The Wanton Song
by fractured-fairytale06
Summary: Dean and Sam head to Tennessee to deal with a spirit terrorizing a school for the deaf. Dean battles with himself, and Sam embraces a new addiction. DeanOC. Rated M for later chapters.
1. Chapter One

Author's note:

_**Author's note:**_

_**I named this after "The Wanton Song" by Led Zeppelin. **_

_**Also, I started writing this just after Jus in Belo, so it's in that kind of time frame before the rest of the season. The whole story is actually finished, so it's just a matter of me updating the chapters on a regular basis. I'll probably post two or three at a time, just because I know how frustrating it is to have to read one at a time. ) **_

_**Disclaimer: Blah, blah, not mine…. But boy, if they were, right?**_

_**REVIEWS **__****_

**Chapter One**

**Coleman, Tennessee **

**Present Day**

The whole time Jeremy was waxing the floors every night he wished he wasn't there with a fervor he reserved for little else in his few years of life. Ordinarily he finished doing all this by the time sunset came around, but a dentist appointment that day had cut into his routine. Being a responsible soul, he'd offered to stay late and finish. He considered just having someone fill in for him, but no. He just _had _to do it himself. He should have known that he'd be there by himself at night. More importantly, that he'd be there by himself at night and in the damn dark.

The school was all but sinister with every light in the house dimmed, or off completely, and the hallways empty. The silence made his skin squirm even though it was almost as quiet while class was in session, save chalk on the blackboard and the occasional phone ringing. To take his mind off his surroundings he wore headphones on the nights he was here late and, sometimes, during the day if the boss wasn't around. That night his old headphones sang Elvis Presley's "Hound Dog".

Hey, he thought. When in Tennessee.

He continued with his work with more diligence than anyone expected of him; mind on his music and not on his environment. He did his best to avoid the principal's office, which has been cleaned up only a week before. Jeremy was grateful to see that all the crime scene tape had been removed and the door had been locked.

Since Mr. Evans had been killed he didn't much care to stick around, or to give the menacing yellow much thought. He'd just as soon pretend the man's office didn't exist, like most everyone else in the building. Most of the faculty and some of the older children walked by it during the day, averting their eyes and continuing awkwardly with their conversations as though they hadn't all had the same thought at the same time. It's hard to do, though, when you're alone.

By nine o'clock he'd finished with his duties and he was more than ready to get the hell out of there. As he was putting the last of his things into the janitor's closet he heard a loud clatter from the hallway. His blood thickened from the immediate injection of the adrenaline into his system, and he felt for a moment that he now understood how people could call the sensation "jumping out of his skin."

Forcing his heart out of his throat, he stepped tentatively into the hallway. His nerves hummed with anxious energy as he tilted his head from side to side, looking for the source of the noise and finding nothing to hold responsible.

Convinced that he'd been hearing things, he shut the door to the closet and fumbled stupidly for his keys. Before he could find the right one, a sound made his stomach drop like a lead weight. Raw, angry, but muffled words permeated the stillness and had his heart leaping, shocked, into his throat. He could just make them out through the strain but refused to stay frozen in place much longer, provided his shaky legs could carry him.

He moved just barely at first, but the faster he moved the louder the voice became. The correlation hindered his movement for only a second, but he was bound and determined to get the hell out of Dodge. By the time he'd reached the doors to the school he was at a dead sprint and the voice was almost deafening, getting angrier by the second. He'd turned around as he pushed open the doors, mere seconds to freedom, and was met with a screwdriver from his own tool belt buried to the hilt in his chest.

He heard the distinct _crack _as the tool perforated his sternum and could just barely feel it as his body slid to the cold tile floor. Something warm and coppery had gotten into his mouth and he spit with all the force he could muster, which only sent a few drops to the front of his shirt. As his vision began to darken and narrow to only a fraction of unobstructed sight, he could only think to be grateful that the voice had finally stopped.

_**Okay, I know this one was kind of short, but that's why I posted two chapters at once. We now return to our original programming…**_


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

**Beaumont, Texas**

**One Week Later**

Dean Winchester started awake at the sound of Deep Purple's "Smoke on the Water" blaring from the nightstand. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and stared at the red numbers on the alarm that read six forty-five a.m. He cursed and flipped open the phone, not bothering to check the caller ID for a familiar number.

"Yeah," he answered gruffly, letting his head fall back on the pillow.

"Dean?" a voice inquired and Dean sprung up. He recognized the voice instantly and couldn't hide the surprise in his answer.

"Ellen?"

"Yeah, it's me," she said and Dean was almost at a loss for words.

"Jesus," he said incredulously. "We haven't seen you since…" he trailed off but thought, _Since the Roadhouse burned down. Since Ash was killed._

"I know," she said but cleared her throat to signal her desire for a subject change. "Listen, I need you boys to do me a favor."

"Name it."

"You anywhere near Tennessee?"

"Texas. Why?" he asked and lowered his voice when Sam had started to stir in the other bed.

"I need you to check up on something for me if you can," she said and continued when Dean declined to comment. "I got a niece over in Coleman has a bit of a problem. It could use a once-over if you guys don't have anything else demanding your attention."

"What is it?" he asked, yawning.

"Hell if I know, she didn't tell me," she said. "If I had that information I wouldn't be calling."

He ignored the comment and replied, "Yeah, sure, we'll check it out. We can be there by tonight."

"Thanks," she said. "I'll keep in touch."

A _click _on the line said she'd hung up. He was a little annoyed that she'd hung up before he could get any particulars from her. All he caught was Coleman, Tennessee. He guessed it didn't really matter; whatever they were looking for was bound to have accrued some kind of publicity. Things out of the ordinary, things like what he and his brother handled, usually did.

Dean looked over at the alarm clock again and debated whether or not he wanted to just get up and moving. The sooner he did the sooner they could get on the road. The alarm was set for a little over an hour from then so he decided to let Sam sleep a bit longer before they hit the road. It had been a long couple of days and they deserved their rest. They were showing their age a little more each day; a product of a life of hunting and the repercussions that came with it. He didn't so much mind to see his own reflection in the mirror; it was Sam's obvious fatigue that got to him. He shoved the thoughts to the back of his mind and closed his eyes.

It felt as though he'd barely blinked when a loud buzzing in his ear signaled their wake up call. He grasped blindly at the clock, refusing to even open his eyes to the sunlight he knew would burn them. Sam beat him, however, and flicked off the alarm. He sensed movement from Sam's bed and Dean had almost fallen back asleep when he heard the curtains rustling and a flash of sunlight invaded their cave of a hotel room.

"Dean, get up," he heard his little brother yell on his way to the bathroom. He grunted sleepily and Sam called, "Seriously. Get up."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm up," he said but made no effort to move for the next few minutes.

"Who called this morning?" Sam asked, returning from the bathroom fully clothed.

"Ellen."

"You're kidding," he said and sat down on the bed opposite Dean. "How is she holding up?"

"I don't know," he replied. "We didn't really get into the personal stuff."

"Then what did you talk about?"

"A job," he said, throwing the blankets off his legs. "She's got some family in Tennessee that needs our particular form of expertise."

Sam watched his brother walk into the bathroom and called after him, "What does it look like?"

"No clue," Dean called back. "But check out Coleman, Tennessee in the news and see what you come up with."

Sam heard the shower start and he knew that Dean would be occupied for at least half an hour. He took Dean's usually long shower time to grab coffee, never brave enough to try the coffee provided in the room. He was almost always better off finding it elsewhere. Sam walked out the door just as Dean was getting into the chorus of "Hot Blooded". He gladly locked the door behind him and went in search of something highly caffeinated.

He eventually found a coffee shop a few blocks from the motel that looked a lot like a place he and Jess used to frequent back in California. They'd go on Sunday mornings; him for the coffee and Jess for the ambiance. She loved the little shop regardless of the fact that she generally didn't drink coffee.

He savored the memory for just a moment before pushing it to the back of his mind as he walked in the door. A bell just above his head signaled his entrance and an older woman of about fifty greeted him with a smile.

"Well, good morning, sugar," she said warmly, her blue eyes crinkling a bit at the corners. "What can I get for you?"

"You wouldn't happen to have caffeine in its pure form and an IV, would you?" he said and the woman laughed.

"One of them mornings, huh?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Alright then," she said. "Have a seat anywhere you like and I'll bring out a jumper cable for you."

He tilted his head a bit in a show of confusion. "A jumper cable?"

"Yeah, it's an alternative to your IV," she said. "But it'll have pretty much the same effect."

He laughed. "Sounds good," he said and picked the table nearest to the window. He was surprised to see that the small shop was deserted, but the quiet provided some peace of mind. He rarely got the opportunity to retreat into himself anymore. Although he could be very sociable, he was naturally introverted. These short moments of solitude were what he lived for and what made the long Metallica marathons in the car bearable.

"Here you go, sugar," the woman said, interrupting Sam's train of thought. She sat a large cup of dark liquid and a cinnamon roll bigger than his hand in front of him. "Now let me know if you need anything else, you hear?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," she said and tucked a strand of shocking red hair behind her ear. "Just holler for Darlene if you don't see me around."

"I will," he said. "I'm Sam, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Sam," she said and left him to his breakfast. He stared at the cup in front of him and picked it up, wondering if he was going to regret drinking something named after a car part. He brought the cup slowly to his lips and took a small sip, quickly understanding why they called it a jumper cable. Despite the fact that it was almost hot enough to scald his tongue, it was bitter enough to feel like it was battery acid running down his throat. He cringed and set the cup back down, trying to fathom how much espresso could possibly be in one drink.

He heard Darlene laughing from the counter and he shifted in his chair to face her.

"I'm telling you, I'd pay cash money to see that face again," she said, slapping her hand lightly on the countertop.

"What's in that?" he asked incredulously.

"Regular brew and about three and a half shots of espresso," she said. "Not to mention a secret ingredient I'm not allowed to give up."

"Jeez," he said. "it really does feel like someone hooked you up to a car battery."

"That's how we got the name, sugar," she said. "We were experimenting with coffee back here and came up with that. The first person to taste it said it was like having your tongue hooked to a jumper cable. And voila."

"And people drink this?"

"All the time. They always say the taste alone will wake you up long before the caffeine does."

"I think they're right," Sam said, taking another sip and making the same face, much to Darlene's delight. "I don't suppose you have many repeat customers for this stuff."

"Sure we do," she said. "It just takes time. The more you have, the easier it gets."

"I hope so," he said and tried another sip. It was still awful.

The two continued to make pleasant conversation for a few more minutes despite Dean's three ignored calls. Sam missed this kind of interaction from time to time; when he didn't have to lie or coerce his way into people's favor. By the time he'd finished his breakfast Dean had called another two times and if he ignored any more there'd probably be hell to pay. There probably already was. Dean's name appeared on the caller ID again and he knew there was no use putting it off.

"Excuse me just a moment," he said to Darlene and she nodded her head. He hit the little green button on the phone and said, "Hello?"

"Where the hell are you?" Dean barked across the line.

"Eating breakfast," he answered. "I must have left my phone on silent or something. My bad."

"Jesus Christ, Sam," Dean said angrily. "At least let me know you're leaving or something! How the hell was I supposed to know where you'd gone?"

"Sorry," Sam said lamely, eyeing the rest of his jumper cable. He was starting to feel a little bit of a jolt in his system from the caffeine and he liked it. Maybe if he could down the whole thing without tasting it…

"Hey," he finally said, "I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Okay," Dean said and Sam heard a loud click on the line that told him his brother had hung up the phone.

"Okay, then," Sam said and put the phone back in his pocket. "I guess I'd better hit the road. I think that was my cue."

"Where you headed?" Darlene asked. "Whoever was on the other side of that phone didn't sound too happy."

"Nah, that's just my brother," he said. "Do you know about how far it is to Coleman, Tennessee?"

"Coleman?" Sam nodded and Darlene looked up thoughtfully. "Well, it's about eight hours to Memphis, twelve to Knoxville. Coleman's just south of there, right?"

"No idea."

"Yeah, I think it is," she said. "So about twelve, thirteen hours, thereabouts." Sam grimaced and she asked, "Long drive?"

"Long enough," he said and thanked her before finishing his drink in a few quick swallows. He paid and walked out the door with three more massive cinnamon rolls and two more jumper cables, courtesy of Darlene's sympathy for his drive. He walked back to the motel to find Dean packing the Impala with a scowl on his face. He remembered the walk to the shop being a lot longer than the walk back. Sam's long strides brought him next to the Impala within seconds and he braced himself for his brother's wrath.

"What's in the bag?" Dean asked instead and Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

"Cinnamon rolls," he said, nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Darlene sent them back with me because we have a long way to go. Like, twelve hours I think she said. But yeah, she's a nice woman. Funny. Weird old aunt kind of funny, not really comedian funny."

Dean looked at him curiously but asked, "That coffee?"

"No. Yes. Sort of. Well, it's better than coffee. It's called a jumper cable. It's like battery acid at first, but the more you drink the better it gets. The taste alone will wake you up."

"Dude," Dean said, throwing a duffle bag in the back seat of the Impala. "Why are you talking so fast?" He paused. "And so much, for that matter?"

"Am I? I didn't notice. It must be the jumper cable. There's lots of caffeine in it. Yeah, a lot of the stuff. So it could definitely be that." He finally paused and rocked back on his heels, unable to keep still.

Dean gave him a strange look but climbed into the driver's seat. Sam folded his long legs into the passenger's seat and buckled up. His feet instantly started tapping to the music on the radio. Dean looked over and the only thought running through his mind was how long the drive was going to be with Sam on a caffeine high.

"Hey, are you going to drink your coffee?" Sam asked, his hands beating out the rhythm of the song on his knees.

"No, I'm good," he said warily and seriously contemplated throwing the two containers out the window before Sam could get his hands on them.

"More for me," Sam said and shrugged.

_Not if I can help it, _Dean thought and revved up the engine.

Before they'd been on the road an hour, they'd changed places because Sam couldn't sit still and Dean could no longer endure his twitching. Sam drove--speeding like crazy--and Dean surfed the internet on the laptop, looking for events pertaining to Coleman, Tennessee.

"Okay, so," Dean started, eyes skimming the page, "Two murders that the cops can't explain in a school for the deaf called St. Theresa's."

"How were they killed?" Sam asked.

"Doesn't say," Dean answered. "The first happened two weeks ago when the principal of the school was found dead in his office by the secretary. The second one was a young janitor killed a week ago. The morning shift janitor found the body when he opened up in the morning. No camera footage in either instance. The murderer 'kept just out of reach of the security cameras' according to the police."

"What do you think?" Sam asked. "Vengeful spirit?"

"Maybe," Dean said and closed the laptop. "We'll find out. Step on it, Tweak."

Sam complied but missed the South Park reference.


	3. Chapter Three

Author's Note:

_**Author's Note: **_

_**Nothing's mine, except Erika. **_

_**Reviews are love!**_

_**)**_

**Chapter Three**

**Coleman, Tennessee**

**Later That Night**

Breaking into a school was harder than Dean remembered, and he'd had more than enough practice. He pried at the lock to no avail, grunting in frustration. He let fly with every curse word in the book while Sam fidgeted behind him, unable to stand still for even a moment. Finally the lock on the back doors gave way and the two men slipped inside the dark building, armed with rock salt-loaded shotguns. Each had EMF readers in their hands, taking the reading as they walked silently down the deserted hallway.

None of the classrooms of the first wing gave off any remarkable readings; most were textbook normal frequencies that had Dean frowning. They progressed slowly down each hallway in turn, finding nothing until their ears picked up the sound of a chair moving across the tile floor. The EMF's squeals grew a little louder and they went into autopilot, scanning the dark hallway for anything out of the ordinary. Seeing nothing, they walked on.

At the end of the tunnel, a light peeked onto the tile floor from beneath a classroom door. They approached it and took their places on either side of the door. Noises like something being dropped on a chalk tray came from the room and Dean nodded, a motion interpreted by both brothers as "back me up". Dean put his hand on the doorknob and turned it quickly, shoving the door open so that it hit the wall with a loud _smack! _

The two rushed in, scanning the room at warp speed and finding nothing to suggest supernatural activity in any way. The door started to close slowly behind them and they spun to face the source of the movement. Out of nowhere a flash of yellow appeared in Dean's peripheral vision, and lightning-quick reflexes led the barrel of his shotgun to his side. The thing swung and connected with the barrel of Dean's weapon with a _clack _that was almost deafening in the otherwise silent room. It clattered to the floor and Sam pointed his weapon in the direction of the sound. He had almost squeezed the trigger before a cry that couldn't have possibly been Dean's came from the corner.

"Wait!" his brother yelled and Sam paused to notice a woman, flesh and blood, holding a yardstick and prepared to swing again if provoked. The look on her face proclaimed absolute terror and Sam instantly lowered the weapon, ordering his heart calm. Between the adrenaline and the caffeine, he took in a shaky breath and waited for his hands to stop shaking.

The woman was small--even when not compared to him--with long, curly black hair and startling green-gray eyes that made him stop short. He saw her small hands shaking against the skinny plank of wood, and felt an instant wave of guilt that he couldn't seem to stammer out a solution to.

Dean, on the other hand, recovered his shotgun from the floor with an expression that could have frozen lava in its tracks. Anger easily visible on his face, he turned to the woman, who regarded them with uneasy eyes but no longer appeared to be terrified.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Dean asked rudely. He didn't like surprises; particularly surprises that could have gotten someone killed. The woman looked right at him, scratched her ears, but didn't reply. _Oh, right, _Dean thought. _This is a deaf school. _He spoke in a voice loud enough to be considered yelling when repeating his question.

"_**What are you doing here?**_**" **he said and the woman flinched.

"Stop yelling already," she said in a quiet Southern drawl as thick and smooth as honey. "And shouldn't I be asking you that?"

Dean was taken aback and scrambled for a believable lie.

"Well, we're state police," he said finally, not even offering a badge. "I'm Paul Rodgers and this is Simon Kirke."

"Really," she said, putting her weapon, the yardstick, back on the chalk tray behind her. "I loved your Desolation Angels album."

Sam laughed a bit and Dean stared at her, mildly surprised. "Oh, you weren't supposed to know that," he said, smirking unabashedly.

"I didn't think I was," she said. "You must be the Winchesters." The brothers looked at each other, confused. She extended a hand to each of them in turn. "I'm Erika Cole, Ellen's niece. I'm a teacher here."

"Teacher, huh?" Dean said, his signature grin forming at the corners of his mouth. His eyes traveled appreciatively and without shame.

"Wow," she said incredulously, staring back at him. She only looked amused as she said, "You must be Dean."

"Yeah," he said warily. "How did you?--"

"Aunt Ellen said you were something of a horn dog," she said, smiling as Sam laughed.

"Wait," he said, feeling the bruise on his ego start to swell. "She didn't mean that, per se."

"You must be Sam," she said, ignoring Dean's indignant glare. "I've heard nothing but good things."

"Of course you have," Dean muttered under his breath.

"Yeah, I am. Nice to meet you," Sam said. "Do you always stay at school so late on a Friday night?"

"Not usually," she said. "But my aunt informed me that you two would rather break in than come see me first."

"I guess we proved her right," Sam said, running his hand through his long hair.

"Wouldn't be the first time, I'm sure," she said, smiling easily. "Actually, I was working on a lesson plan for a new student and I lost track of time. That happens a lot."

"I know what you mean," Sam said, finding a desk to sit on. "Since you're here, maybe you can tell us what's going on. The newspapers were pretty vague."

"Yeah, they would be. Local cops don't like admitting that they don't know their asses from a hole in the ground," she sighed and Dean barely suppressed a laugh, after which he cleared his throat and put on what he thought was a serious expression. Erika determined that it fell somewhere between a glare and a pout. She walked around the side of her large wooden desk and took a seat in the chair behind it.

"The reason the locals haven't been so forthcoming with evidence is because they have no evidence," she continued. "The facts are that two people have died in this building in the last two weeks. Both were here late, alone, and both crime scenes were practically spotless."

"How did those people die?" Sam asked. "The papers said that the cops couldn't figure it out but didn't mention anything else about them."

"Oh, they explained it," she said, leaning forward in her chair. "It just didn't make a lick of sense one way or the other."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, they sent the bodies to the forensics lab in Knoxville. Both men were killed with an object of their own. In each case, the angle of the wound and the depth of it make it logically impossible to be done by a human being. Of any strength or size," she added.

"What happened to them?" Dean asked.

"Technically I guess they were stabbed," she answered. "But I personally think 'murder by projectile' would be more appropriate."

"Projectile?" Sam repeated.

"Yeah," she said. "Lyle Evans was killed with a pair of scissors from his own desk and Jeremy Cook with a screwdriver. Both were single blows to the chest that were hard and fast enough to keep the breast bone completely intact with an object through it. No splintering or hairline fractures to be found."

"Yikes," Dean said, shifting his feet. "Did it look like anyone had broken in? Any signs of a struggle?"

"Now you sound like a cop," she said, the edge of her mouth curling up a little. "But the answer to your question is no, to all of the above. The only thing out of place in Lyle's office was a stapler found on the floor. Everything else was in perfect order."

"What about the janitor?" Sam asked.

"Same thing," she answered. "Not a thing out of place but a picture that had fallen off the wall a few feet from the janitor's closet. And the screwdriver missing from his tool belt, which was also in the closet."

"How did you come by all this information?" Dean asked, barely hiding his suspicion.

"The sheriff has a thing for me," she said, shrugging her shoulders noncommittally. "I could flutter my eyelashes in his direction and get anything I want to know."

"Fair enough," Sam said and fidgeted with the zipper on his jacket. "Well, you can go home now. We're going to run through the building again before we head out and we'll find you tomorrow sometime."

Dean nodded his head in agreement. "It's better if we do this while no one else is here."

"I'll gladly let you in tomorrow, but we're calling it a night," she said, standing. "You both look exhausted."

"We're fine, really," Sam insisted. "We're kind of used to it."

"Sorry, sugar, no can do," she said, smiling kindly at Sam. "We're going to head home and that's final."

"We?" Dean asked

"Yeah," she said, grabbing her purse and a leather satchel from beside her desk. "How else are you going to find the mansion?"

"What mansion?"

"_My _mansion," she said. "Don't tell me you were planning to stay in some sleazy motel while you were here."

"You get used to it after a while," Sam offered with a sheepish smile. "Miss Cole, we're more than happy…" he started, but was cut off.

"Oh, honey," she said, laughing. "Don't call me that. It's Erika, please."

"Erika," he corrected. "That's very nice of you, but we're just fine staying in a motel."

"I won't hear of it," she said, ushering them out of the classroom as she turned off the lights. "You're here to do me a favor. I'm doing you one in return. I've got more than enough bedrooms for the three of us."

"Yeah, Sam," Dean said, watching Erika lock the door behind them. "Accept the lady's hospitality." He was silently thrilled at the idea of a bedroom he didn't have to share. With Sam, at least.

Sam nodded in acquiescence and Erika smiled in satisfaction as they started down the dark hallway. Dean and Sam walked casually but both had a finger on the trigger guard and an ear turned to the EMF in their pockets. Erika led the way, chatting easily with the two of them. The sound of her own voice smoothed out the heavy tension she carried in her shoulders, making it easy to pretend she wasn't nervous. Constantly waiting for something to pop out of nowhere could do that to a body. The noise provided an easy distraction that she was more than willing to share.

They reached the back door without any EMF feedback and suddenly the idea of a soft bed had occupied their thoughts. As they walked out, Dean shouldered his weapon and watched his breath circle up and away from his mouth. Bare remnants of winter clung to the air while spring fought its way center stage, leaving the weather divided between pleasant, warmer days and bitter, chilly nights.

Fighting their way through the heavy cold, they found the Impala and Erika gave a long, loud whistle in appreciation.

"Is this yours?" she asked incredulously.

"This is us," Dean replied with a little bit of satisfaction in his voice.

"She's beautiful. A '67 Impala, right?" She beamed when Dean nodded. "She is a work of art, no doubt about it. And every car ever made looks better in black."

"Exactly," Dean said, smiling proudly. Sam rolled his eyes but was ignored by both parties. "Are we giving you a lift back to wherever? I can shove Sam in the back seat."

"Nah, I'm parked around the corner," she said, nodding her head in the opposite direction. "I figured you were going to follow me."

"We can do that," Dean said and while Erika walked to her car, Dean and Sam climbed into the Impala. Dean started the engine and drove around to meet her. Sam watched as his brother's eyes followed the movement of her hips, mouth open only a little.

"You're joking, right?" he asked.

"What? She's a classy chick," he defended. He smiled stupidly. "And she likes my car."

"Dean, she's nice," Sam said. "But she's also Ellen's niece."

"So?"

"So," Sam continued, "If you do your usual hit and run on her, Ellen will hear about it and kill you."

"Come on," Dean said defensively, "I'm a gentleman."

Sam raised his eyebrows in disbelief just as Erika got to her car. This time Dean whistled in appreciation and not just at the driver. Erika had gotten into a 1977 Firebird, whose cherry red paint gleamed in the moonlight against white racing stripes down the front of the hood. The engine turned over with a roar and Dean groaned in ecstasy. Sam shook his head when Led Zeppelin blared from her speakers and Dean's jaw dropped in amazement.

"I'm going to marry her," Dean said, determined. Sam just leaned back in his seat and put his head against the window. He wanted a cup of coffee. It was going to be a long trip with Dean focusing on the girl and not the job.

Just when Dean had thought a country road couldn't go any farther, a huge white house came into view over the top of a hill. He followed Erika through a large gated entrance and she led them around the winding driveway before finally parking around the side of the house. Dean parked the Impala next to her and killed the engine, stepping out of the car and looking up at the house.

It was two stories with columns, a wide porch, and big windows that marked the front of the structure. Flowers surrounded the porch and occupied hanging pots strung along the banisters. He could tell that she spent time and effort on her home, which he guessed had been a family possession for some time.

"Welcome to the Cole plantation," Erika said, swinging her keys around her finger.

"It's nice," Sam said, taking in his surroundings.

"Just nice?" she repeated questioningly. "I didn't know I was talking to such a harsh critic."

"Sorry about that," Dean said for his brother. "It's been a long day. He gets cranky when he doesn't get his nap."

"Dude, shut up."

Dean grinned. "See what I mean?"

"Right," she said. "Well, let's get your stuff in."

Dean nodded and started grabbing their things from the back of the car. Together they climbed the stairs of the front porch and Erika unlocked the door, holding it open for Sam and Dean to come through. The lights flickered as they entered and the two men dropped their bags, reaching for weapons they didn't have. Sam was halfway out the door again before Erika's laughter made them pause.

"Jesus, calm down," Erika said, laughing hysterically. "It's supposed to do that."

"What?" Dean asked.

"It's a device set up in the wiring of the house so deaf people can know the door is open. It does the same thing with the doorbell, the phone, and the smoke alarm."

"I'm guessing someone in the house is deaf," Dean said, feeling ridiculous and wishing he had a weapon to keep his hands on.

"Good guess," she said, trying to control her laughter. "Come on, I'll take you to your rooms." She led them through two parlors and up a winding staircase before stopping in a hallway that resembled something Dean had seen in the Shining.

"Here you go," she said. "You're across the hall from each other, the bathroom is down the hall, and I'll be on the east wing of the house if you need anything."

"This place has wings?" Dean asked.

"Yep," she answered. "Compliments of two centuries of family money. Do you need anything before I go to sleep?"

"I think we're set," Dean said.

"Okay, then I'll wake you up for breakfast in the morning," she said, starting back down the stairs. "Goodnight. Get some rest, both of you." Dean watched her down the stairs, winked at Sam, and retreated to his room. Sam shook his head wearily and went to bed, hoping morning came slowly.

Dean woke up inexplicably at two in the morning, only an hour or so after he'd gone to sleep. After rolling over repeatedly he couldn't get comfortable again and decided that it was because his stomach was growling like he hadn't eaten in weeks. He contemplated wandering through the house in search of food, and despite trying to dismiss the idea he couldn't. He didn't want to go through a stranger's kitchen but it was either that or stay up the rest of the night.

He left the room as quietly as he could, so not to wake Sam, and padded down the stairs. He felt his way through two rooms of darkness, eyes needing to adjust only barely to see; another product of going through dim buildings to find the monsters that stay in the darkness.

Finally a tiny nightlight led him directly to the kitchen doorway. His bare feet protested the freezing tile floor and he walked around the corner to find someone else already in the refrigerator. He almost turned around to sneak back up to his room—he had no idea who else was in the house—before he realized it was Erika rummaging around. He took time to admire the baggy t-shirt she wore as it flowed over the curve of her hips. She stood up and turned around before Dean had a chance to think of something to say and she jumped in shock, dropping whatever she'd been holding.

"Jesus Christ," she said breathlessly. "Why would you do that?"

"I didn't mean to scare you," Dean said when she went back to her mission in the fridge. He stared at her figure shamelessly, from her smooth legs to the slope of her waist and the long curls falling down her back. "I was just--"

"It's okay, I understand," she said, moving things around noisily, completely oblivious to his attentions. "I'm bad about midnight snacks, too. Can't sleep without one most nights."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," he said. "I didn't mean to intrude, you know, if you prefer to be alone."

"Why would I prefer that?" she said, pulling things from the refrigerator and setting them on the counter. "Besides, it's nice to have some company I can just talk to. Signing will wear you out after a while."

"I'll bet," he said, continuing to watch her pull things from the fridge. Apparently she wanted a seven-course meal. She finally got everything she wanted and turned to face him as she kicked the door closed behind her.

"Don't worry," she said, "You'll sleep like a baby after this."

"What are you making?" he asked, glancing curiously at the ingredients she'd set aside.

"Green chili cheeseburgers," she said. "Something I picked up in college out in New Mexico. I'm forever indebted to my Spanish roommates, who graciously passed this recipe on to the Southerner." Noticing the unsure look on his face she added, "Trust me. One of these in between two shots of Jack and you'll sleep like the dead."

_Yeah, well, they don't always stay that way, either._

He pushed the thought aside and chuckled. "Okay, I'm in."

"Great. Now go have a seat and let me work my magic," she said. He followed her instructions and took a seat at a little table in the corner of the kitchen to watch her with a combination of curiosity and interest.

Thirty minutes later Erika put a shot glass and a giant hamburger in front of him, sitting beside Dean with her own. She sat the bottle of Jack Daniel's between them and took off the cap, pouring them both a generous shot of the brown liquor.

"Okay," she said, "We do one shot now and one after we've finished eating. Works like a charm."

"You've experimented with this a lot, haven't you?" he asked, raising the small glass in his fingers.

"Hey, sometimes insomnia pays off," she said in reply, clinking her glass against his in a silent toast. They each knocked back their shots and put the glasses back on the table. "And the best part of this is that it's a guaranteed no-hangover."

"That so?" Dean asked, thoroughly enjoying the burn of the whiskey as it worked its way down his throat.

"True story," she said. She raised a stern eyebrow. "And I take my hangovers very seriously."

He could only laugh.

They ate in comfortable silence, Dean trying to hide the fact that green chili had set his mouth on fire and Erika trying to pretend she didn't care that she'd been caught in just a t-shirt. She appreciated that he made no attempt to awkwardly fill the silence. Silence she was used to; small talk she was not.

Dean hardly noticed the pensive look on her face, but stared intently at the bottle of Jack, wondering if he could take his other shot a little early. Erika noticed his longing and laughed, grateful for the distraction. Introversion was too comfortable for her, and couldn't help but feel like she was being a bad hostess by keeping to herself.

"Too hot for you?" she asked. "Or are you just a really cheap drunk?"

"A little of both, I think," he said, exhaling loudly and crushing a napkin in his fist before letting it fall to his plate. "But that was damn good, I'll give you that."

"Thank you. I'm glad someone appreciates my cooking," she said and got up to take their plates to the kitchen. Dean poured another shot for each of them before checking to see if Erika's back was turned and taking a quick swig from the bottle. He screwed the cap back on just in time for Erika to walk back into the room. She returned to her seat beside Dean and picked up her shot glass, clinking it against Dean's. They drank and Dean smiled lazily.

"You know, I think this might be bad for me," he said, running his fingertips over the rim of his shot glass.

"What?"

"Good food, alcohol, and a beautiful woman," he said and flashed a grin that she was sure could have thawed a polar ice cap. "I think you've found my weaknesses."

"Careful with the flattery, sugar," she said, smiling to hide her sudden nerves. "It's liable to get you somewhere."

"That right?" he asked, leaning forward. The breath she smelled was a heady combination of whiskey and man.

"I'd hate to get you in trouble with your boyfriend."

"Smooth," she said, focusing on the tumultuous green of his eyes rather than the sweet, slow pull in the pit of her stomach. "But I think my girlfriend might care a little more."

Her delivery was impeccable and Dean's eyes widened considerably. His mind flitted back and forth between _damn it_, and _jackpot! _Erika watched his inner turmoil with a significant amount of amusement that she couldn't seem to keep to herself.

She laughed good-naturedly and said, "Don't get your hopes up. I was kidding."

He shrugged, but couldn't quite make the gesture believable. "I knew that."

"I'm sure you did," she said sarcastically. "Now get to bed."

"Sleep is overrated," he said, fixing her with a look that by all accounts should have had in her in a puddle at his feet. "Why don't you come with me and I'll show you."

Erika found herself laughing for lack of anything else to do. She ignored the wounded look on Dean's face and smiled at him.

"Oh, sugar," she said, patting the top of his hand. "You're just too much."

"You have no idea," he said, his voice grumbling low in his chest.

"Go to bed," Erika repeated, knowing she wouldn't be able to stand against him all night. "You'll be asleep before you know it."

He nodded, half in agreement and half from a lack of anything else to say, and got up from his chair as Erika finished collecting the dishes from the table. He turned.

"You know, I could help with the dishes or something if you like" he said. He quickly added, "Because you cooked and all."

Erika looked a bit surprised but smiled at his consideration and said, "No, that's all right. I can do them. Go get some sleep."

"Okay," he said. "Goodnight then."

"Sweet dreams, sugar," she answered and Dean left in search of his room, suddenly worried he wouldn't be able to find it again. After two wrong turns he stumbled across it and fell asleep two seconds after his head hit the pillow. His last thought was a slow smile and a charming Southern drawl.


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

Dean's wakeup call came about nine o'clock with a sharp knock at the door. He ignored it at first, figuring that it was Sam, and went back to sleep until a slight shift in the mattress jolted him awake. His hand automatically went under the pillow to grip a knife that wasn't there and he turned to see Erika looking down at him. He looked only for a moment at the lovely pair of legs hiding behind a slim black skirt before letting his head fall back on the pillow.

"This is my kind of wakeup call," he said playfully, taking a quick moment to eye the plunge of skin down the front of her shirt. "I knew you'd change your mind."

"Did you?"

"Yep," he said. "But I'd hate for Sam to catch us."

"That so?" she asked. "We'll have to be quick, then."

His head jerked from off the pillow and he stared at her suspiciously. He noticed the complacency in her startling eyes and he gave up the idea. He decided she was kidding and let his head fall back onto the pillow. The disappointment was sharp.

"Come on, wake up," she said, shaking his shoulder a bit. The quick jolt from the touch had her pulling back like she'd been burned. He didn't acknowledge the sensation, but allowed his mind to wander for a split second before closing his eyes again.

"Wake up."

Dean grunted, suddenly very reluctant to leave the warmth of the bed.

"I am awake."

"I was going to do this nicely but I can always go get a pail of ice water."

"Harsh," he said.

"Necessary," she replied. "You didn't answer the door and breakfast is ready."

"Breakfast?" he said, picking his head up. "Like, food?"

"I thought that'd do the trick," she said, a smile in her voice. "Sam's already dressed and downstairs. I have to say, I've never seen anyone go through coffee that fast."

"Yeah, he's had a serious thing for caffeine lately," Dean said. "If you want to cut him off, go for it. You'd be doing me a favor."

"I'd rather keep my limbs, thanks," she said. "He does need to cut down some or he'll stop sleeping. He doesn't look any better than when I saw him last night."

Dean pursed his lips and knew the reason.

"He's got a lot on his mind," he said simply, leaving no room for an explanation.

"You need to get up and moving, though, or you'll go hungry. Sam says you guys have a lot to do today."

"Yeah, okay," he said and rolled out of bed, heading for the door. "I'll take a quick shower and I'll be downstairs." His lips pulled into his best smile. "Care to join me?"

"Yeah, sure," she said, walking past him and leaving her perfume swirling in her wake. Dean's vision clouded, and then cleared. "I'll be there in five. Don't wait up."

"Your loss," he declared through a tightened throat and turned from her, ignoring the familiar buzz in his head. He shrugged the feeling off and walked down the hall to the bathroom, missing the quick smile on her face. She shook her head and headed down the stairs.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

Sam was on his fourth cup of coffee when Dean finally appeared at the bottom of the stairs, feeling more awake than he had in some time. He looked at the large dining room table, decked out with a spotless white table cloth and sterling silver flatware, and felt completely alien. The scene looked like something out of Norman Rockwell.

Dean sat down next to his brother and Erika stood, walking to the kitchen. His eyes followed her until she was out of sight but then stared at the candlestick in front of him. The intimacy of the room had put him off, and he said nothing. Sam was in the middle of draining a massive cup of inky black liquid that Dean assumed was either coffee or tar. He thought about what Erika had said.

Sam noticed the look on his brother's face and scowled.

"What?" he asked.

Dean shook his head. "Nothing."

Dean was about to go help Erika in the kitchen when she came through the doors with a plate of food and a large cup of black coffee. She sat both in front of him with a flourish and he could have kissed her, would have, but instead contented himself with watching the steam rise from the plate.

"Don't mention it," she cut in as he started to thank her. "You're a guest here. We're supposed to take care of you."

"You're doing a damn good job," he said and picked up his fork. Erika smiled as he made various noises of approval. "This is the best breakfast I've ever had," he said.

"Glad you think so, sugar," she said and started clearing hers and Sam's dishes, both of whom had apparently been awake for some time. Dean watched her for a moment before turning to his meal, which from that moment on had his complete and undivided attention. He looked up only briefly as she returned through the doorway with her purse and keys, heels clicking as she walked.

"You going somewhere?" Dean asked around a forkful of food.

"Yeah," Erika said, "Faculty meeting. I won't be long, but I'll be at the school if you guys need me. If not, I'll be here when you get back to the house. Will you be able to find it on your own?"

Dean considered the question and ran through the road in his mind.

"Yeah, I think we're good."

"Okay," she said, sitting a piece of paper down by Dean's left hand. He stared at her delicate fingers for a split second before looking her back in the eyes.

"These are all the numbers where you can reach me," she continued, unaware of Dean's gaze. "The first is my cell phone, the second is my office, and the third is the phone here at the house. If I don't answer one, try another. I'm rarely unreachable."

"Will do," Sam said, getting up from the table. "We should get going, anyway." Dean looked up from his unfinished meal, complained a bit with his eyes, but dutifully stood.

They said their farewells and watched Erika walk out the door. Dean stole bits of bacon from his plate as he carried it to the kitchen, feeling that it would have been rude to leave it sitting on the table. As soon as he walked through the doors he could smell her and he breathed deeply, in part to take in her scent and in part to smooth the upset in his stomach. He called to mind the night before, the memory of watching her cook in a baggy t-shirt, and found himself smiling.

"Dean!" Sam called from the next room. "What the hell are you doing?"

He exhaled loudly.

"Hell if I know."

Erika blinked hard and tried to keep up her attention as the vice principal signed furiously. The other faculty members nodded in agreement every now and then but the room remained silent. Sometimes at these meetings, she wondered why she bothered having the ability to hear; there was nothing in the school to listen to.

_Now, about the new principal._

This statement made Erika sit up and pay closer attention.

_Since Mr. Evans' death we've been looking for a replacement, _she said. _None has been found and so we will continue with me acting as a temporary replacement until a suitable one has been found._

The faculty, including Erika, nodded their heads in morbid understanding. Most were still trying to understand what could possibly be happening within the walls of their school. For the most part, the community had a happy understanding with the school. There were no conflicts with the residents and the city backed St. Theresa's completely. No particularly nasty land battles or upsets within the school's hierarchy to cause any kind of violence between the employees whatsoever. As far as she knew, there never had been.

Each faculty and staff member had been interviewed by the police on numerous occasions, each of them offering very little to the investigation. It was disheartening to see how little was really being done on the law enforcement end; although Erika had a feeling the police wouldn't be able to catch the killer anyway. That's why she'd called Aunt Ellen in the first place. It wasn't so much that the police didn't care; that wasn't it at all. They just didn't have anything to work with.

Erika wondered how many cases were just as unsolvable throughout the rest of the country.

When the meeting ended the faculty spread to their separate corners of the room, sipping coffee and signing to the other teachers. Erika poured a cup of her own and smirked a little, thinking of Sam. While she added cream, she caught a fragment of another teacher's conversation.

_It was very weird. _

Knowing that was probably her cue, she set to adding more condiments to her coffee. She knew that by the time she was done she wouldn't be able to drink it, but she needed an excuse to "listen" in. She tried her best to be discreet—watching two deaf people sign was the same thing as eavesdropping in the deaf community—and because she was the only "hearing" teacher in the school, she conducted herself by their rules. She simultaneous butchered her coffee with sugar and kept a studious eye on the two women standing a few feet from her. The teacher who originally caught her eye, a small Hispanic woman named Anna, continued to tell her story.

_I had turned around to finish wiping off the chalkboard and when I turned around, a desk was turned over. A student wasn't even in the room!_

Erika's eyes widened but she stayed put, adding a fifth sugar and stirring. She couldn't see the other teacher's reply, but saw her nodding intermittently throughout. She could only assume that the other teacher was agreeing.

Deep in concentration, Erika almost jumped when a hand closed over her shoulder. She whirled around to face Anna, who regarded her with a concerned smile and signed, _What's wrong? _

_Oh, nothing, _Erika signed back. She quickly improvised. _I think I'm losing my mind._

_Why is that? _The woman asked.

_Every time I turn around in my classroom, things are getting moved around. I don't remember doing anything, but I must have because no one else is in the room._

It was a lie, of course, but one Erika didn't feel too guilty about. The other teacher's eyes widened a little and she laid a hand on Erika's forearm. The surprise was quickly covered by understanding and she smiled. Erika thought the look was something like what an aunt would do to placate a child.

_You're not crazy, _the woman signed. _A lot of things like that have been happening. To everyone._

_What do you mean? _Erika signed back, feigning ignorance.

_Two days ago, Mr. Wiles had a stack of books shoved off his desk while his back was turned, _she signed, shaking her head. _No one had even been in the room. I don't think I've ever seen a man more scared._

_Poor Mr. Wiles, _she replied, her sympathy completely genuine. _What about everyone else?_

_Were you here early yesterday morning?_

Erika thought about it. No, she'd been running late yesterday morning and running in circles around the house trying to find her car keys. She shook her head in answer.

_Well, _Anna continued, _About seven-thirty, just before all the children started arriving, there was some kind of power outage._

_What do you mean? _Erika asked, confused. She'd been told nothing about the event.

_We were all having our coffee in the teacher's lounge, talking about your new student, and the lights started going on and off. It did it for five minutes until finally one of the janitors flipped the breaker. He kept the lights off for a few seconds, and then turned them back on. Nothing happened after that._

She shook her head in resignation. _What's happening around here, Anna?_

_I don't know, _Anna signed and patted her hand, which she held in her own. _But don't you worry about it. The police will fix everything._

She replied that she hoped so, but was thinking that the only fixing was going to be done by two drifters named Winchester.


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

Upon their arrival at the Coleman public library, Dean and Sam immediately divided a workload that, regrettably, would not include electronic assistance. He pestered the librarian, purposefully ignoring her constant flutter of eyelashes, and found that there would be no help but bound articles in the back room of the library. The town newspaper had only been in circulation since right after the turn of the century, and nothing had been transferred to electronic files.

Dean had been working two hours when he checked the time on his cell phone. His reading had been uneventful; he'd never heard about such a quiet town in his life. There was the expected town news, a few weddings, subsequent births, and little else. He'd yet to see an obituary for an individual younger than 60, and certainly nothing that wasn't natural causes.

Well, excepting the last two obituaries.

"Anything over there?" he called to Sam, who looked as though he was about to go cross-eyed after three hours of searching.

"Nope," he replied, taking a second to rub his eyes with the heels of his hands. "It's been a school the whole time, and before that it was an empty field belonging to the city."

"Well, what was the field used for?" Dean asked. "Any executions, like with that apartment complex in Philadelphia? Lynching?"

"No, nothing," Sam replied and let out a loud breath. "The county jail wasn't even built until the seventies. Before that, all the people were sent to the lockup in Knoxville. All executions were elsewhere."

"Well, there goes that idea," Dean said, frustrated. "I've got nothing, but I'm only in the 90's."

"Where did you start?"

"With this week's paper," he said and Sam grimaced.

"I thought I might find you here," a voice said from behind them and the two twisted in their chairs to see Erika approaching with two bags of takeout containers and a drink carrier. She smiled graciously as she sat both in front of them. She handed Sam a Styrofoam container that smelled suspiciously like coffee and he took it eagerly, making her laugh.

"Did you go too long without it, junkie?" she asked and Dean laughed.

"What? No," Sam said defensively but took two large drinks anyway. The look of absolute ecstasy on his face made the other two laugh, but Sam ignored them, turning instead to the takeout containers.

"What did you bring us?" Dean asked, taking his cup. "I don't suppose this is Jack, is it?"

"Before three?" she asked incredulously. "Have some class, why don't you?" She paused. "It's Dr. Pepper… with a kick."

Dean beamed at her.

"So what have you two found? Anything interesting?"

"Nope," Dean said. "Not a damn thing."

"Good, because I did," she said and sat down next to Dean. "Apparently a lot of teachers have had things moved around in their classrooms."

"That could be someone playing a prank," Sam offered objectively. "No offense, but pranks would be a lot easier on deaf teachers."

"Not possible," Erika said. "I'm talking within moments of them turning their backs. One of the instructors had an entire row of desks overturned while he was erasing the chalkboard."

"Wouldn't he have heard something?" Dean asked. Erika stared at him pointedly and he was confused until it struck him: _Oh. Deaf. _"Sorry."

"Anyway," she continued, "It's been happening to everybody."

"You too?" Sam asked, taking a long pull from his coffee cup.

"No, not me," she answered. "The only upset in my classroom was you two, last night."

"Well, then what's so special about you?" Dean asked.

"Well," Erika began sarcastically, "I'm filthy rich, I'm double jointed, and I beat all the hot shot high school boys in drag races on the weekends."

"Smartass," Dean muttered. Shane smiled in response. "I meant what makes you different from the other teachers."

"For one, I'm the youngest," she said. "All of the other teachers are at least forty."

"I doubt that's it," Sam said. "What else?"

"I'm the only hearing person," she said. "Every other teacher in the building is deaf. Well, except the office staff. They're all hearing."

"Has anything happened with the office staff recently?" Sam asked.

"No, not that I've heard of."

"That could be something," Dean said, popping a french fry into his mouth. "Maybe a spirit who has something against deaf people."

"Possible," Sam agreed. "It's been happening in a school for the deaf, going after those who teach them. The janitor worked at the school; the spirit might see that as helping them in some way."

"Alright, at least we know which direction its going," Dean said, taking a sip from the cup Erika brought him and frowned. "I thought you said this had a kick?"

"I was kidding," she said.

She watched them go back to their individual tasks before a random thought made her sit up straight in her chair. She gasped loudly. The two men at the table watched as she jumped up from her chair to wander back to the room where they'd gotten all their articles. Confused, Dean followed her. He found her digging through a box they'd left on a table to go through later.

"You know, if you'd wanted to get me alone, all you had to do was ask," he said, placing a hand lightly on her hip only to be pushed away.

"Is that really all you think about?" she asked, distracted by the papers in her hand.

Dean frowned. "Not all the time."

She continued digging through the box, sending papers flying everywhere, and Dean cursed.

"What are you doing?"

"I think I remember my grandparents mentioning something about a shooting at the school."

"What?" Dean said, suddenly annoyed. "Why didn't you mention that before?"

"I didn't remember until just now," she defended, not taking her eyes away from the box in front of her. "It was a long time ago…the thirties, I think."

"Then you're tearing up the wrong box," Dean said impatiently and went to another table full of boxes. The two he wanted were marked 1930-1934 and 1935-1939. "Here, take one of these."

Erika reached for the more recent of the two and they carried them back to the table where Sam still sat.

"She thinks she remembers a violent death there," Dean explained when Sam looked at them, confused.

The two started going through the headlines, looking for anything that could apply. Sam watched with interest, but kept eating. He frowned at the realization that his coffee was gone.

Fifteen minutes passed before Dean muttered, "Son of a bitch."

Sam and Erika stopped. "What is it?"

"You were right," he said to Erika. "In 1931, a teacher and five students were killed in a classroom of St. Theresa's."

"I knew it!" she exclaimed from her chair. "What else does it say?"

"Michael McAlister, 23, came into the school drunk the night of the 16th of June, 1931 with a gun and killed six people," he read. "Each of the victims died from a single shot to the chest."

"Oh my God," Erika said, suddenly sad for the people who had been dead for seventy years.

"Yeah," Dean said, clearing his throat. "Michael McAlister left behind his wife, Abigail, and an infant son." He read on until one single sentence caught his eye. "Listen to this."

Erika and Sam paused and looked at him.

"According to McAlister, his victims were possessed," he said. "It says that when he stumbled in the door—he'd apparently gotten lost after a night of heavy drinking—he 'heard the voice of demons' and attempted to 'rid them of their evils'."

Erika scoffed bitterly. "Ignorance. That's all that is."

Sam looked at her. "What do you mean?"

"Before people started to understand deafness, they were afraid of it," she said. "Like in Biblical times when epileptics were killed for being possessed and schizophrenics were heralded as prophets. Deaf people were often killed because they couldn't make the same sounds as hearing people—they couldn't. The sounds they made didn't sound like words and people were afraid of them. A lot of innocent people were killed in nothing more than fear and ignorance."

Sam looked at his hands. "Then I think it's safe to say we've found our spirit. Michael McAlister must have come back to finish what he started."

Erika sighed, suddenly exhausted. Her thoughts wandered to Nick and her heart ached a little.

"What do we do now?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"We get his arrest records, find out where he was buried," Dean said, noting that her face had gone pale. He pushed the thought aside. "We dig him up, salt and burn the bones, and that should take care of it."

"I'll leave you to it, then," she said, rising from her chair and grabbing her purse and keys. "I need to go back to the house for some things."

"Are you okay?" Sam asked, noticing that she'd seemed frailer in the last five minutes than he'd ever seen her.

Erika smiled weakly and put her hand on Sam's cheek. The worry in his face had her chest tightening.

"I'm fine, sugar," she said, fighting the strain she heard in her own voice. "You boys finish up your food, find whatever else you need, and you'll have dinner waiting on you when you get back."

She walked away without another word.

"What's wrong with her?" Sam asked, genuinely concerned.

Dean watched her walk out of the library with sober eyes and shrugged.

Erika had two sanctuaries: Her car, and her kitchen. She worked on the car when she was spitting mad, wanting to work off steam. She would rev the engine to outrun a good mad or temper tantrum. She cooked when she felt the need to create something. That afternoon she found herself at the stove, preparing a glaze for a ham she was preparing to put in the oven when it got closer to time for dinner. She contented herself in the knowledge that Dean and Sam would come in the door hungry, and that they would appreciate the effort she put into it.

She worked the small wooden spoon in lazy circles, watching the mixture begin to simmer. She had the absent thought that cooking might not be able to soothe what it was she was fighting so hard against. Unwilling to give herself time to sulk, she went to the giant freezer in the utility room to pull out vegetables that she could sauté and take joy in presenting. It was a poor substitute for real happiness, but it was all she had.

Sam followed Dean out of the library just after it closed at six that night. They'd managed to locate Michael McAlister's arrest records and date of execution, as well as his family plot in the Coleman cemetery. All of these things, however, weren't what was occupying Sam's thoughts. He couldn't get the sight of Erika eyes out of his head.

Dean had said very little for the remainder of the afternoon, leaving Sam with his own thoughts. He couldn't figure out how a solution to her problem could have Erika looking so brokenhearted. He wondered if there was something she wasn't telling them, and how it could possibly affect what was going on in her school. He didn't peg Erika as a liar, and doubted whatever secret she was keeping was meant to hurt anyone.

"Where are we going?" Sam asked when he noticed that Dean had missed the turn leading to Erika's house.

"Where do you think?" Dean said gruffly. "The cemetery to get the damn thing taken care of."

Sam looked over at his brother and saw the deep frown lines that marred his face. He wondered if he was as unhappy as he looked.

"What's up with you?" he finally asked.

"Nothing," Dean answered.

"Something is," Sam said. "You've been pissed off since lunch."

"Leave it alone," he warned.

"Whatever," Sam said, knowing that it would be impossible to get anything out of him when his back was up. He had a sneaking suspicion, though, that it had something to do with their hostess. He laughed at the idea that he was pissed because Erika wasn't falling for his usual lines.

"Turn up here. Right."

Dean followed his brother's instructions without comment. He turned the wheel in his hands and felt some sense of solidity in the motion.

At the end of the road, they faced large brick walls and a gated fence that guarded the entrance. Dean slammed his palm against the steering wheel in defeat; there would be no climbing either the fence or the gate. There was no padlock to shoot off the gate—it looked like electronic locks. He was livid to think that such a Podunk town could invest in such high-scale electronics for a damn cemetery.

"Shit," he finally said.

"What now?" Sam asked, sensing that Dean needed to feel a little in control at the moment.

"Nothing," Dean said. "Not a goddamn thing. We'll have to try again some other time or figure out a way to bypass those locks."

"We can try again in the morning."

"Yeah, Sam, we can really just waltz into a cemetery in broad daylight to dig up a corpse and burn it. Good thinking," he snapped and Sam absorbed the blow without comment.

Sam leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. A headache was throbbing behind his eyes and he figured that a hot cup of coffee would have it cured in a few minutes. The thought that Erika would undoubtedly have a cup waiting for him at the house gave him some comfort.

Dean started the car again and circled around, finding the road that led back into town from the outskirts. He turned at the residential street that he knew would turn into a dirt road that led out to a giant white mansion on a hill. He thought of the woman who would be waiting inside and his thoughts brightened for a quick moment before turning his attention back to the road.


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

Pulling up to the house, the first thing they noticed was that Erika's car was gone. Dean and Sam entered an empty house, forcibly ignoring the flickering of the lights as they crossed the threshold. Dean felt his heart kick a bit in his chest at the sound of silence that permeated the house, half waiting for something to come at him. A small flutter of alarm sounded in his head but he walked on, watching his surroundings carefully. They walked through the house and found that all the lights had been turned on in the dining room, shining on a meal fit for a king. The room was, however, devoid of another individual.

Sam's eyes fell on a folded piece of paper on the table with their names on it and he reached for it.

Dean watched as his brother's eyes scanned the page. "What does it say?"

"'Dear Sam and Dean,'" he read aloud. "'I hope you won't mind my absence tonight. I had some things at the school I needed to take care of before Monday and I thought tonight would be better than tomorrow. Please make yourselves at home. I'll be back soon. Erika.'" Sam laughed. "'P.s. - Sam, there's coffee waiting for you in the kitchen. Help yourself.'"

Ignoring the weight on his shoulders, Dean scowled.

"Why in hell would she go off to a school where people are dying?" he said angrily, grabbing the note from Sam's hands. "She should damn well know better."

"I don't know," Sam said, shrugging in surprise at his brother's quick rise in temper. "She's probably just picking something up. She said she'd be back soon."

"To hell with that," he said, eyes traveling over the obviously feminine handwriting. "I'm going to go get her."

He whirled around and left Sam standing at the table, lips pressed into a nervous line.

--

Erika fiddled with her keys at the back door of the school, cursing lightly as she went through each individual key looking for the one that would let her into the building. She'd seen Shelley's car out front, so she assumed the secretary had forgotten something that she needed. She intended to run up to the office, tell her that she was in the building to avoid scaring her, and go back to her office for some much needed busy work.

She was halfway down the hallway when the sound footsteps behind her made her breath catch in her chest. Heart rate spiking with every second, she stopped in her tracks and listened to the heavy gait coming quickly behind her. Hardly knowing what she was thinking, she turned slowly to find Dean coming at her with fire in his eyes. The scene was unanticipated, but so much better than what she'd been expecting.

"Dean," she managed to say, just before he took her arm roughly in his hand.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he whispered.

"Let go of my arm, Dean," she said slowly, trying her best to hide the fear in her voice. "Or I'll break yours."

He complied, but it didn't lessen the temper in his voice. "People are dying here and we haven't done anything about it yet. What makes you think it's a good idea to come up here by yourself?"

For this she had no answer. She found the nerve to look him in the eyes, the stormy and intimidating green, and quickly found herself studying her shoes.

"I'm not alone," she finally said. "The secretary is in the office. I was just going to let her know that I was here."

"You won't be here for long," he said. "We're leaving. Now."

She glared at him, angered by the command and spat, "I don't have to do what you tell me. I come and go as I please."

"Ellen asked me to come here to make sure you were safe," he replied, telling a little bit of the truth. "That means that I make sure you don't wander around dark buildings with homicidal spirits on the loose."

"I don't want or need your protection," she said, ruthlessly calm, her Southern drawl iced over with cool civility.

Giving him little more than a parting glance, she started walking down the hallway to her classroom. Her temper quickened her step and by the time she reached her door, she was fuming. She unlocked the door, pushed it aside, and callously tossed her keys onto her desk.

"Erika."

"What, Dean?" she said, refusing to turn around. "If you're looking to be my knight in shining armor, your efforts are wasted." This time, she did face him. His hands had found their way into his pockets and his gaze was locked onto hers.

"You're here to stop whatever's killing people in this school. _My _school. Nothing else. I'm not your charge."

"What happened in the library today?" he asked and she blinked in surprise.

"What?"

"You heard me," he said, leaning his back against the door. "As soon as we put a name to this thing, you freaked and took off. I want to know why."

She sighed, and her temper suddenly drained away. She was left feeling hollowed out and exhausted.

"It wasn't the name," she admitted. "It was what he did. It reminded me of Nick so much."

He frowned. "Who's Nick?"

"My little brother," she stated simply. She felt herself sink into the armchair behind her desk and felt the plush leather under her arms.

"What happened to him?" Dean asked, feeling like he already knew the answer.

"He's dead."

Dean said nothing, leaving her free to go on if and when she was ready.

"It's been two years now. He was sixteen when he died," she said, hardly recognizing the sound of her own voice. "I was 25. I had just graduated with my master's degree and was working on finding my first real teaching job. We were living out in New Mexico then.

"Our parents are both dead," she said with some difficultly. She rarely mentioned them. "My mother died of cancer when I was ten. Our father died in a hunting accident right after my eighteenth birthday."

"What was he hunting?" Dean asked.

"Deer," she said and laughed bitterly at the surprise on his face. "We weren't your kind of hunter." She ran her fingers through her hair but could barely feel the contact. "Anyway, I moved him out to college with me. I raised him while I went to classes. Nick was born deaf, as was my mother. One night, while he was hanging out at the college waiting for me, some kids came up to him wanting money. They were trying to mug him."

She felt tears coming and willed them away. She swallowed them with the mounting desolation pressing on her chest.

"I heard the gunshot from my advisor's office," she said. "Nick hadn't understood what they wanted, couldn't have, and the ones that killed him told the police after they'd been caught that he was making crazy sounds at them. Yelling, but they couldn't understand him." She paused, looked at Dean. "They were afraid of his voice.

"I buried him here, with my parents. I came back for good after his funeral, took my place in the house where I spent our childhood. Not long after, St. Theresa's had a position open for a kindergarten teacher and I gratefully accepted. I've been here since." She exhaled loudly and didn't bother to wipe away a tear that had slid down her cheek.

Dean said nothing, but recognized the complete and total despair he saw in her eyes. He remembered feeling the equivalent when Sam had lain dead on a worn-out old mattress. Watching her, he realized that she deserved more respect that he'd been giving her. He saw intense strength and perseverance, but also love and compassion that were just as powerful. He wondered how he hadn't seen her like this before.

"I didn't mean to bring all this up again," he finally said, walking to her. "I'm sorry."

He watched her eyes steel again and she said, "You wanted to know why, and I told you. It's fine."

"I'm not trying to hurt you," he said, the words sliding out of his mouth before he had the forethought to stop them.

She looked up at him, taken aback. She found more comfort in his face than she would have expected, and couldn't figure out why that worried her. She watched him circle her desk and turned in her chair to face him. He offered a hand and she looked at it, knowing that it would be all too easy for her to allow herself to be touched, comforted. She would fall into his arms without a second thought, but would know that wasn't what she needed, either.

She pushed herself out of the chair without taking his hand. Dean accepted the defiance and waved it aside, understanding her motives. He would have done the same thing.

"Can we leave now?" he asked.

She nodded her head. "Let me get a few things and we'll get out of here."

Dean watched diligently as she collected her purse, keys, and a few folders. He didn't miss her fingers shaking the littlest bit, or the hitch in her breath that happened when she thought he wasn't paying attention. She was still hurting, he knew, but didn't think she wanted his concern. He was willing to oblige her for the time being.

Walking down the hall together, Erika found herself leaving more than a little space in between them. Though Dean noticed, it didn't bother him. If she were much closer, he would be tempted to weave his arm around her waist rather than leave a hand perched on the gun at his hip.

"I should go to the office," Erika said quietly. "If Shelley's still here, I'll let her know that I'm leaving."

"Fine," he said, but intended to follow.

The frosted glass office door was closed when Erika approached it, but could tell that the light inside was still on. She didn't know why the secretary would have been here so late, but didn't honestly care. She just wanted to get behind the wheel of her car and keep her gas pedal on the floor until she felt like herself again.

She put her hand to the doorknob and instantly drew it back with a slight jump.

"What?" Dean said, moving in front of her.

"Nothing. It's nothing," she said, shaking her head a bit. "The damn thing's freezing, that's all. Stupid."

Dean's brows drew together and he stayed in front of her, reaching for the handle. He touched it and could have mistaken the smooth metal for ice cubes. The EMF he'd forgotten was in his pocket started squealing loudly and Erika jumped at the sudden noise. He pulled it out and looked at it, knowing already what he would see. His nose told him ozone was in the air and he turned to face Erika.

"Listen to me very carefully," he said to her, looking her very directly in the eyes. "I want you to stay right behind me. If I tell you, I want you to run as fast as you can. Do not stop, and do not look back."

Erika's eyes widened with fear but she nodded her head.

Dean's hand went around the doorknob and he turned it. The door pushed open and icy air poured into the hallway. He walked in to find a totally empty room smelling like ozone. Erika stood dutifully behind him, fists balled at her sides. His eyes traveled the room warily, looking for anything out of the ordinary. He noticed that a trash can had been flung against the wall, but nothing else out of the ordinary. When he looked behind the desk, a heavily tanned hand with fire engine red nails lay against the carpet, clutching a cell phone. His eyes followed along the arm until he saw a face staring blankly at him. A ballpoint pen stuck out from the center of her chest. The blood at the side of her mouth had already crusted and turned a sickly brown.

"Shit."

Erika moved beside him and followed his eyes to where they'd rested on the floor. Her breath caught in her chest and she felt her knees start to shake as she looked into the woman's cold, glassy eyes. Dean felt the movement and pulled her away from the desk to sit in a chair on the opposite side. He knelt in front of her and took her hands. They were almost as cold as the doorknob.

"Erika, look at me," he said patiently. Her eyes slowly worked their way up to his. "I need you to breathe for me, okay? I can't have you passing out."

Her eyes had dulled and her hands shook in his own. He wondered if she was even still with him.

"Erika," he said louder. "Erika, do you understand?"

She slowly nodded her head and closed her eyes. He worried for a moment about the complete lack of color in her face but grabbed his cell phone from his pocket to dial Sam's number. He answered on the first ring.

"Dean, where are you?" he asked.

"I'm at the school," Dean said, keeping his eye on Erika, who appeared to be working her way back to regular breathing. "It killed someone else, Sammy."

"Jesus. Erika?"

"No, she's with me," he said quickly. "The secretary. She's been dead a few hours now, looks like."

"What are you going to do?" Sam asked. "I'm kind of stranded out here."

"I can handle it," he said. "As soon as Erika's got her legs under her again we're going to call the cops and let them deal with the body."

"Dean, you can't be there," Sam said earnestly. "You're supposed to be dead, remember? We both are."

"I'm not leaving her here on her own, Sam," he said. "She can barely stand."

"Just be careful, okay," he warned. Dean grunted in response and hung up the phone, turning to Erika.

"You all right?" he asked.

"I'll make it," she said shakily. She looked up at him with shining eyes. "Her family, Dean. She has a husband. Kids."

He nodded grimly. "We'll let the cops take care of them, okay? We need to call soon."

"I know," she said. "I know."

She pulled out her cell phone and punched the series of numbers that would lead her to a dispatcher. She gave them her name, her location, and the name of the victim. He voice sounded weak and haunted, qualities he didn't think were tossed in for the effect. When she hung up the phone, she put it back in her purse and looked wearily at Dean.

"I think I need some air," she said, standing up. Since her legs seemed to be holding, she dared to take a step. She stayed upright, but not quite steady.

"Hold on a second and I'll go with you," he said, pulling his sleeve down to fit over his fist. She watched him wipe down the counters and the doorknobs; she assumed getting rid of his fingerprints. When he finished, they walked out of the office and left the body behind them.

The air outside was cold and pierced her skin like needles. She didn't know if it was the weather or her mental state that had her feeling so completely frigid, but her first thought was that she'd never be warm again. She sat down on the front steps of the school, thinking that only the morning before children had been running up and down them. She exhaled noisily and put her head in her hands, flinching when warmth came suddenly around her shoulders. She looked, and Dean had covered her bare arms with his jacket. She smiled gratefully, and looked toward the street as the first flashes of red and blue came into sight. She watched as the squad cars parked along the curb.

She looked at Dean. "What do I tell them?"

"The truth," he said. "You were here late to pick up some things and went to see if she was okay." He paused. "That's when you found the body."

She watched a tall man with red hair approach. It was the Sheriff, Burke Spinner.

"Who are you?" she whispered to Dean.

"Just a friend of the family," he said, figuring that it wasn't terribly far from the truth. He watched the man advance on them and he set his jaw, prepared to lie his ass off for the next hour or so.

"Erika, are you alright?" the man asked immediately, ignoring Dean's presence completely. He stiffened but refused to let irritation get the best of him while the cop fawned over Erika.

When he'd been properly assured that Erika was in no way harmed, the cop turned his suspicious eyes to Dean.

"Who are you?" he asked, barely masking the animosity he felt toward the stranger that kept catching Erika's eye.

"Simon Wright," Dean said in the coldest manner he could work up. It didn't take too much effort. "I'm an old friend of the family."

The sheriff, Burke, eyed him but dismissed his worth quickly. Dean saw the shift in his attentions go back to Erika and he assumed that his identity had been accepted.

"Erika, why don't you come with me back to the cruiser," he offered as forensics entered the school building. "We can run through what happened."

She looked back at Dean, giving him a look that he had no idea how to answer. He settled for a brief nod of encouragement and watched her walk off with the other man. Taking a seat on the steps, he watched their exchange and vowed to himself to take her home if she so much as yawned.

--

Erika sat in the back of a police cruiser and refused Burke's offers of a blanket, settling instead for Dean's leather jacket. She pulled it tighter around her shoulders and caught Dean's subtle scent—soap, aftershave, and male. She took temporary solace in it and braced herself for the round of questions she knew was coming her way.

"Erika, I'm going to need you to tell me what happened tonight," he said, talking to her like he would a small child. "Do you think you're up to that?"

She smiled to hide the snarl behind her voice.

"Yeah, I think I can manage," she said, her voice sugary sweet. She would cooperate as much as possible, but if he wanted her to be the damsel in distress he had another thing coming.

"Okay," he said. "Why were you here so late on a weekend?"

"We had a faculty meeting earlier this morning," she said. "I forgot some files in my classroom and I came back to get them."

"What about your friend?" he asked, nodding at Dean, who seemed to be studying them intently. She sent him a small smile, an equivalent of a thumbs-up, and looked back at Burke.

"He was meeting me here so we could drive back out to the house together," she explained. "He and his brother are staying with me for a little while."

She noted the burned expression on his face and fought back a smile.

"How long were you here before you went into the office?"

"I don't know. Thirty minutes or so? Not long," she said. "After we left my classroom, we headed down the hall. I'd noticed Shelley's car in the parking lot when I drove up, and I figured I would let her know that I was leaving." She choked out a laugh. "I didn't want to scare her if we ran into each other in the hall."

"That's real good," he said, laying a hand lightly across her knee. She resisted the urge to shrug away from him. "What happened next?"

"We walked into the office and we—," she stopped, took a deep breath. "We found her lying on the floor, behind the desk. I sat down for a minute, to get my legs back under me, and—uh—Simon told me we needed to call the cops."

"He was right about that," he said, though it burned him to have to say it.

"Her family, Burke," Erika said, her eyes misting up at the thought. "She has a family."

"Husband and two little boys," Burke agreed. "Don't you worry about that, Erika. That's our job."

"But she's gone," she said, breath catching in her lungs. "Catching the bastard that did this won't bring her back. It won't give those kids back their mother."

"No," he said. "No, it won't."

She let a tear slide down her cheek and let out a loud breath, watching it swirl into steam in front of her. When she brought her eyes back down, Dean was marching toward her.

"Come on Erika, let's go," he said, holding out his hand.

Burke stood and crossed his arms defensively over his chest.

"I haven't finished questioning her," he said, relying on authority to win his case.

"Yeah," Dean challenged, eyes glinting fiercely in the flash of the sirens. "You have."

Erika took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. "It's okay, Burke," she said. "You know where to find me if you need me." She watched the two stare each other down before Burke finally seemed to come to a decision.

"Okay, you can go," Burke said as Dean pulled her to his side. "But I'm going to stop by first thing in the morning to talk with you some more."

"We'll make ourselves available," Dean said and walked quickly away from the parked police cars along the curb. Arm firmly around her shoulders, he led her around the side of the school to where they had both parked their cars. Hers was neatly in the parking space marked with her name; his was parked haphazardly in two different handicapped spaces at once.

"You can't park for shit," she said, hearing the exhaustion in her own voice.

"Yeah, well, I was in a hurry," he said, holding her a little tighter against him. He walked her around to the other side of the Impala and she looked up at him, confused.

"What about my car?" she asked, allowing herself to be led. "I can't just leave it here."

"We'll get it tomorrow," he answered. "You're tired and you've had a rough day." _To say the least, _he thought. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to drive right now."

Sensing it wouldn't matter even if she fought him tooth and nail, she allowed herself to be put into the passenger's seat and rested her head against the cold glass window when Dean closed the door. She listened to the driver's side door open and felt Dean's weight on her left side. He turned the engine over with a roar and sped out of the parking lot.

Erika smiled.

"I love this car."


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

_**Author's Note:**_

_**Thanks for all your reviews… They make my heart go pitter-patter. Please keep them coming, I beg of you. I'm living on little else at the moment. lol**_

_**This chapter is a bit out of character for Dean, but I hope it's not too unbelievable.**_

_**Also,**_

_**Yay for season four premiering this Thursday!**_

**Chapter Seven**

Dean glanced over from time to time, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest that told him she'd managed to fall asleep. He kept the wheel as steady as possible along the country road, determined not to wake her. When his jacket slipped from her shoulders, he lifted it back up to ward off the chill he felt even through his clothes. What had been a warm day had turned into a bitterly cold night.

When he found himself crawling through the gates leading to the house, it felt like he'd been gone for years. It looked different now; empty. He wondered if it was because he now knew the tragedy that had taken place within its walls. He parked the car exactly where he had the night before, with a much different feeling stirring in him. He looked over at Erika, saw that she was still asleep, and barely contained the desire to push her hair away from her face. Her skin was pale still, even with the color sleep brought to it. She looked fragile, he thought, but knew she was everything but.

Something kicked in his chest that felt suspiciously like regret.

He sighed and leaned his head back on the seat. What the hell was he doing? He had no business playing with his own emotions, letting himself get so twisted up over a girl that he would, even with the best intentions, eventually leave.

A woman, he corrected. She'd seen the death of both parents, raised her little brother to the best of her ability, and had lived to see her only surviving family murdered in cold blood. In so many ways, she'd done what Dean had never managed to do—to go on living; to keep going without turning angry, bitter, or maladjusted. He admired her strength, but wondered what she was going through on the inside. He wanted to know her, needed to understand her, but hated himself for his weakness.

Torturing himself only a little more, he brushed his fingers lightly over her cheek in an effort to wake her up. The intimacy of the gesture stunned him, but Dean refused to look too much into it. She stirred but her eyes remained closed. He didn't have the heart to repeat the action, so he settled instead for gently shaking her shoulder until her piercing green-gray eyes looked into his.

"Come on," he said quietly. "Let's go inside."

"Yeah," she said sleepily. Her eyes still held the dreamy quality that only came after sound sleep, and he found himself staring at her.

"What is it?" she asked, blinking the sleep from her eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he answered quickly. "I was just thinking. Let's go."

He walked her up to the house and through the door, ignoring the flickering lights that he'd almost gotten used to. He passed Sam and nodded his head that they were fine as he led Erika up a set of stairs opposite to the ones that went to his and Sam's bedrooms. At the landing, he let her lead him down a dark hallway until she came to a stop at the very end. She opened the door and walked just inside before turning to Dean and handing him the jacket that had been keeping her warm. He stayed just outside the doorway, unwilling to intrude into a space he knew was completely hers.

"Thank you, Dean."

He cleared his throat. "For what?"

"For staying with me tonight," she said, turning her head up to him. "It helped. More than you think."

"You scared the hell out of me," he found himself admitting before he could stop the words. "Taking off like that."

"I'm sorry," she said, and meant it.

Dean tipped his head down to her and she waited, feeling the sweet urgency of his breath against her skin. His broad hands fought the cold clinging to her as they slid slowly down her arms, his calluses scraping gently against her skin. Still holding her, he brushed his lips softly across her brow. Her eyelids fluttered shut and he wanted nothing more than to shut the door behind them and discover the rest of her.

He sucked in a quick breath and mentally swore.

"Get some sleep," he said on a whisper and turned to walk quickly back the way he'd come. Erika frowned at his back but closed the door, wondering if he would be waiting for her in the kitchen that night.

Dean swore at himself all the way down the stairs, where he found Sam waiting for him.

"What happened?" Sam asked, standing.

"Not now," Dean answered brusquely and started climbing the stairs to his own bedroom. He slammed the door behind him and threw his jacket on the bed, where he sat to cradle his head in his hands.

--

Sam watched his brother practically run up the stairs, heard the slam of his door and could only wonder what the hell was going on. He sat back down in the armchair and stared at the lukewarm coffee by his hand. It didn't sound good at the moment, and he let it rest. He would warm it up later.

The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that whatever was happening with Dean had to do with Erika. Sam could have laughed—he couldn't remember a girl putting him so out of sorts in quite a while. Somehow, though, the humor was missing when he thought of the anguish on Dean's face. Knowing Dean like he did, he could only guess that his brother was well past physical attraction it came at one of the worst possible time.

Sam was determined to not let this be the end for him. His research was taking him a few different routes, but nothing had turned up yet. His search was long from over, though, and it wouldn't be until he'd found the solution that would keep Dean out of Hell. Every time he looked at him, Sam could feel the clock ticking and desperation renewed itself within him.

He hadn't been sleeping well lately. He told himself it was the coffee, but he knew better. It was the nightmares. It was watching Dean suffer night after night. It was the completely and total desolation that came after waking up in a cold sweat with his brother's name on his lips.

It was feeling helpless.

He knew Dean was just as affected, but also knew he wouldn't show it to anyone but himself. He begged Sam to leave it be, knowing that Sam wouldn't and believing that his little brother would have hope when he didn't dare. So many times, Sam had shown enough hope for the both of them. Maybe this time it would save Dean, and by saving Dean, save them both.

And he knew he wouldn't find his solution doing nothing. Grabbing his coffee cup, he pushed himself out of the chair. He would warm up his coffee—probably make more—and hit the books until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.

While Sam made coffee and Dean sat thinking, Erika stared out the doors of her balcony and wondered at the both of them. She'd never met two more fascinating, or confusing, people.

She smiled when she thought of Sam. He was sweet, but she wasted no time fooling herself that he was innocent. She knew that he was tough when he needed to be, and that potential made her respect him. As much as she hated to admit it, she liked him so much more because he reminded her of Nick. The shaggy hair, tall frame, and puppy dog eyes were bittersweet qualities the two shared. She remembered his concerned face in the library and smiled to herself, feeling ridiculous.

Dean, she thought with a sigh. He was someone she could think over the rest of her life and never figure out completely. On a completely fundamental level she wanted him; honestly, more than she had any business wanting anybody. He was all male, she thought with a smirk; broad shoulders, a strong jaw line, and a smile that could easily melt her to a puddle at his feet. She smiled when she thought of his come-ons and wondered idly how many other times they'd worked.

On other levels… it was different. _He _was different. He loved his brother, worried about him. He was more compassionate than people were willing to allow, and could be intimate when least expected.

She wondered why he seemed to believe that he didn't deserve to be happy. That much was obvious from the haunted look in his eyes; altruism became a curse far too often. He was content to save everyone but himself, she knew, but had no idea what he was sacrificing himself to. Or why.

Shrugging out of her clothes, she crawled into bed. Sleep found her quickly and left her wondering about the man with the quick smile and tormented eyes.

Dean lay in bed, wondering who he would find if he went down to the kitchen. In all the drama of the night, he'd forgotten to eat. Erika was probably already asleep, he convinced himself. She'd been tired enough to pass out in the car on the way home so he had no trouble believing she was sound asleep now, like she should be. He thought briefly that she could have problems sleeping after dealing with everything. It wasn't a stretch; even he had nightmares occasionally. Recently, more often than not.

He would check on her before he went down to the kitchen, he decided. That way, he could be sure that she was sleeping fine and he could get something to eat without worrying about her. The thought was ridiculous, but he couldn't stop it. He could almost laugh at his own neurosis. He would have, if it weren't for the fact that it masked something much deeper.

Closing the door behind him, he noticed the light on under Sam's door and pursed his lips. He knew what Sam was doing in there, and wanted to be mad about it. He could very well go in the room and tell him to give it a rest. He wouldn't, however, because if the roles were switched he'd be doing the same damn thing. Instead of confronting Sam, he walked on and silently wished his little brother luck.

He crossed the landing that connected the west wing of the house to the east wing and walked quietly down to the door he'd stood in earlier that night. He turned the handle as carefully as he could, grateful when the lock silently gave way. He opened the door and saw Erika's bare shoulders wrapped in blue blankets. Lacy curtains flew in the wind from the open balcony doors and he watched her body move slowly up and down in the pattern of deep sleep. She shivered a bit and he crossed the room as quietly as he could, closing the balcony doors to block her from the wind.

He watched her for just a moment before turning and walking quickly from the room, feeling completely ridiculous and unlike himself.

The kitchen was as deserted as he'd hoped, leaving him to dig through the leftovers from that night in peace. He opened the refrigerator door, chuckling at the ruthless organization he saw. Everything was neatly labeled, organized first by size and then by date. He would have never pegged her for someone with symptoms of obsessive compulsive disorder.

"What's so funny?"

Dean pulled his head from the refrigerator to find Erika wrapped in a white robe and staring at him. Her hair flew messily away from the sides of her face and her skin was flushed with sleep. Mouth suddenly dry, Dean swallowed. He wanted nothing more than to disappear under her gaze, but he forced himself to make eye contact.

"Your fridge," he answered, pointing. "It's a wreck."

She pushed him aside only to find that everything was in its place.

She smiled. "Very funny," she said. "It's just a habit. My kitchen is the only thing I freak out over."

"Ah," he said, and closed the door. "I thought you were asleep."

"I was," she said, sitting down at the table a few feet from her. "I'm a light sleeper. I woke up when you closed the doors."

"I'm sorry," he said, and meant it in more ways than one. He was certainly sorry for waking her, but was almost sorrier that he'd been caught.

"Shouldn't you be asleep, too?" she asked. "You look beat."

"How charitable of you," he said, allowing himself to smile. "I couldn't sleep."

"I figured," she said. "And of course Sam's still up."

"How did you know that?" he asked suspiciously.

"Coffee's still fresh," she said, pointing at the giant black pot on the counter. "And there's some left."

Dean laughed. "Good call. Yeah, he's up."

"My detective skills are endless," she said. "Here, come sit down. I'll whip something up real quick."

"You don't have to do that," Dean said. "Go back to bed. I can fend for myself."

"No, I want to," she said. "Cooking is kind of a stress reliever for me. It's calming."

He thought she needed it.

"Yeah, okay," he said. He stood by, watching her scan labels before taking out a few containers with handwriting different than hers. Dean recognized it immediately.

"Sam put away the food?"

"Looks like," she said. "It was sweet of him to indulge my compulsions. He wrote the date and everything."

"Huh," Dean said. "I kind of stranded him out here, so he probably did it out of boredom."

"I wondered why he wasn't with you when you came to drag me off," she said, a smirk turning up the corner of her mouth.

Dean laughed. "Is that what that was?"

"Seemed like," she said. She stopped rummaging through the food and looked at him. "I just don't know what to do about you."

He shifted his feet nervously. "What do you mean?"

"You confuse me," she said. "Surprise me, I guess would be a better word. I think you know what I mean," she said, noticing the way he squirmed under the weight of her stare. "I'm not going to press this if you're uncomfortable, but I want you to know that it's on my mind."

_Mine too,_ he thought, but said nothing.

He watched as she went back to her task, hands moving competently with utensils and dishes until, a few minutes later, she sat a plate in front of him. He watched her pull a bottle out of the refrigerator and a wineglass from a cabinet.

"I'm having wine," she said. "Did you want some? It's a great year."

Dean considered. "No, I'm fine." He didn't much enjoy the taste of it. Never had, in his experience.

"Suit yourself," she said and poured herself a large glass. If she drank it fast enough, she'd be able to fall asleep in the next hour or so and not wake up for another eight.

This time, when little was said over their meal, the silence was less that comfortable. Both seemed to be deep in their thoughts, paying little or no attention to the other. When Erika stood to take their dishes to the sink Dean started, forgetting she was there. She noticed the reaction and hadn't the slightest idea what to think of it. She wondered if he was thinking the same things she was; if he doubted the same things she did. She had no way of knowing, so instead turned on the hot water and grabbed a sponge.

"Let me help," he said from behind her and she shook her head.

"No, really," she said. "I'll take care of the dishes. Go check on Sam."

"Sam's fine," he said, but his eyes flicked in the direction of the stairs. "He'll probably be down in a few seconds to get a caffeine fix, anyway."

Erika found herself laughing. "You're probably right."

"I usually am," he said, realizing that it was easy to bring a smile to his face again. "Here, I'll dry."

"You asked for it," she said, tossing a rag at him. "I usually have a strict policy against making guests clean up after themselves, you know."

"Why?"

"A good Southern hostess does no such thing," she said, grinning while she scrubbed at a plate.

"I won't tell if you won't tell Sam I did the dishes without a gun to my head," he replied and delighted in the sound of her laughter. "He'll start expecting things he has no right expecting."

"Deal," she said, handing him the plate she'd just rinsed. "Isn't this a bit domestic for you?"

Dean laughed. "Yeah, I guess so."

"And it doesn't bother you?" she asked, handing him another plate.

"Not right now," he answered, taking the dish from her hand. Their fingers brushed, touched for the barest of moments and her eyes shot instantly to his face. She refused to acknowledge the quick, violent tremble in the pit of her stomach but couldn't bring herself to turn away. Wouldn't. She faced him with resolution, waiting for him to be the first to turn away.

He didn't.

He leaned into her, tentatively pressing his lips against hers. Testing, at first, until the weight on his chest forced him to turn and take her into his arms. Never had a kiss ripped through him quite the same way, rapturous in its simplicity. His heart kicked in his chest when Erika pressed herself closer to him and his teeth tugged gently at her bottom lip, begging entrance. When her lips parted, he could have crumbled willingly at her feet.

His tongue lazily explored the taste of her, never quite sated. She was passion and energy solidified beneath his touch and when she moaned against his mouth, he felt his control begin to fray. Her hands grasped the front of his shirt and he felt a familiar heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. Knowing she would be his undoing, he forced himself to pull away from her.

"This is all I can give you," he whispered, his voice unintentionally rough. He watched confusion spread across her features, followed by what he feared was hurt.

"What are you talking about?"

"This," he said, taking her arms into his grasp. She eyed him warily, but looked ready to walk away any minute.

"A good time is all I can ever be to you," he said, knowing that it was more for him than it was for her. He was the one putting his sanity on the line. Before she could walk away, he continued. "You deserve more. And better."

Realization took the place of confusion on her face.

"Is that what this is about?" she said.

"It's the way it has to be," he said, wishing with fervor he hadn't known he still possessed that it wasn't true.

"You're a damn fool," she said, shaking her head at him. "I can make my own decisions."

"That's not what I mean," he said, frustrated. "I can't give you time."

His mind screamed, _I don't have it to give._

Erika choked. "What?"

"I just can't," he said, wishing desperately that he had all the time in the world to offer her. "My life is… complicated."

Erika laughed because she could think of no other reaction. "Who said I wanted forever, Dean?" she said incredulously. "I don't plan that far into the future."

He understood her immediately. Who knew better than she that the future didn't always happen?

"I met you two days ago," she said. "And while I don't exactly understand what's happening, I don't want to dismiss this because you're leaving soon."

Surprise stole the easy answers he'd lined up, and he found himself telling the truth.

"I'm a different person around you," he confessed. "I don't know why, but I am."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

He scoffed. "Hell if I know," he said. "Ellen was right. I'm kind of a hound dog."

Erika laughed. "I kind of figured you were."

"I'm usually the type that sneaks out before morning," he said, sighing. "Not the kind that worries or checks on people in their sleep." He laughed. "Or does the damn dishes."

"Seems to me you're both," she said rationally, looking up at him. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm never this impulsive. I'm kind of a planner." She smiled. "But I didn't plan on you."

"That makes two of us," he said, pulling her closer. He kissed her quickly and stepped away, preparing to go back to his room and stare at the ceiling until he fell asleep.

"Where are you going?" Erika asked, following him out the kitchen. She'd forgotten all about the dishes.

"Bed," he said, starting up the stairs. "We're meeting with the asshole sheriff guy in the morning. You should get some sleep."

"Come with me," she said, effectively stopping Dean in his tracks. He turned slowly to face her. "Come with me," she repeated.

"I said get some sleep," he said.

"I heard you," she said. "And I will."

"Oh, honey," he laughed and fixed fatally green eyes on her. "Not if I go with you, you won't. Trust me."

Appreciating the color creeping into her cheeks, he smirked. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," she heard herself murmur.

When he disappeared over the landing, her immediate thought was to follow him. She could sneak into his room and he wasn't likely to complain. She had climbed one step when Dean's voice called down to her.

"Don't even think about it," he said and left her smiling mischievously, like a child who'd been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

She climbed the stairs, but veered to the right and walked quietly back to her own bedroom, where the shut the door behind her and let out a giant, shuddering breath.

Sleep wasn't going to happen.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Author's Note:**

**I'm putting two chapters up at once this time around, because after today I won't update again until Monday or so. I'm going out of town for a few days.**

**Leave me some reviews, though, I beg of you. I'll love coming back to them. Have a great weekend!**

**Chapter Eight**

Erika awoke when dawn broke over the horizon. The light stung her eyes for only a moment, but then settled like a blanket over the room. She loved this time; when the day has just begun and the possibilities were endless. She would plant the morning glories soon, and watch them bloom in the mornings from the swing on the front porch while she sipped coffee from an old mug of her father's.

Life would be normal. She would be able to forget all about ghosts and murder and go on with her life. She could garden, cook, teach, and pretend that none of it ever happened.

That morning, however, she knew that her world wouldn't be normal again for some time. For the time being, she was being questioned by the police after finding the body of a co-worker. She wondered if she would see the woman's empty face so clearly in her mind forever. She found herself constantly looking over her shoulder, wondering if she would see something fly at her. Until Sam and Dean took care of whatever it was they needed to do, she wouldn't be normal. And until that time, she would try to go on with her life.

She slipped out from between her sheets and picked up the robe she'd let fall to the floor the night before. She shrugged it over her shoulders and walked into her bathroom, fully intent on drawing a scalding bath and adding the fancy bath crystals she hardly ever used. When the steam started rising from the bathtub, she let the robe fall to her feet and she climbed in. The heat of the water was excruciating but had her sighing in ecstasy.

She stayed there until the water had gone lukewarm, letting her hair soak and her muscle unknot. When she climbed out she felt loose and refreshed, and much more together. She worked a towel over her hair, leaving it damp, and rifled through her closet for something comfortable enough for her to wear around the house. She settled on a pair of old jeans and a plain white t-shirt.

When she finished with her morning routine, it was just after eight. She went down to the kitchen and started coffee, mildly surprised to find that Sam hadn't done it already. She took it to mean that he was getting his rest, and for that she was glad. With all the caffeine he'd been consuming, it was unlikely that he was getting any sleep. She had the brief idea of replacing his coffee with decaf, but quickly decided against it. If caffeine kept his reflexes sharp, it stayed for the time being.

She was debating what time she should wake the boys up when Sam clumsily walked through the swinging kitchen doors, hair ruffled from sleep. She couldn't help but grin. She'd never seen anything cuter.

"Good morning, sugar," she said, reaching for the mug Sam had been using. She poured him a giant cup, black, and handed it to him. "You really should be sleeping. It's early yet."

"Tried. Couldn't," he said simply, voice gruff. He looked at her, curious. "Why are you up so early?"

"I'm always up early," she said. "I'm usually up and moving by six or six-thirty."

"Why?"

"I love the morning," she said. "Waking up to face it just makes the day seem longer."

"Since when is that a good thing?" he asked. "People usually want to make the day go by faster."

"Why?" she asked him. "The days are all we have in this world. Why waste them away?"

He smiled at her logic, knowing it was true.

"Good point," he said, taking a long drink from the cup in his hands. "Holy crap," he said, looking at it. "That's the best coffee I've ever had in my life."

"Why, thank you."

"Seriously," he said. "What did you do to it?"

Erika laughed. "Not a thing, sugar. Swear."

"What coffee did you use?"

"The one that's been on the counter all weekend," she said, going through the refrigerator for that morning's breakfast.

"When I make it it's not nearly this smooth," he said.

She eyed him. "Do you just dump it in the filter?"

He paused. "Is there any other way?"

"That's your problem, then," she said. She reached for a measuring spoon and handed it to him. "Start measuring it out and you'll have much better luck, promise."

He stared at the spoon in his hands. "Run away with me."

Erika laughed. "Oh, boy."

"I mean it," Sam said. "Just make me coffee for the rest of my life."

"I'd hate to leave my home and work, so I'll do it for free," she said, laughing. "But thanks so much for the offer. I'll let you know if I change my mind."

Erika started breakfast, chatting with Sam as she went. He was a sweetheart, she decided. No one could ever convince her any different. She knew he was only a few years younger than she, but she felt the innate urge to mother him. She laughed at herself and went on talking, enjoying hearing Sam talk about Stanford. She remembered her own college experience with the same affection, but like Sam, had the end of it ruined by the death of a loved one.

"What was she like?" Erika asked, stirring batter in a bowl.

"Who?"

"The girl," she said, knowing already that she would have surprised him with the question. "There's always a girl, dear."

Sam sighed, and Erika heard the pain in his voice. She knew that even years couldn't heal it… you just went on, hoping that it would hurt less some day.

"Jess," he said. "Her name was Jess. She was incredible. She was always smiling." His face lit up with the memory. "No matter how dark and brooding I was, she was always smiling."

"She sounds wonderful," Erika said.

"Yeah," Sam replied, his voice suddenly lower. "She was."

"I'm sorry, sugar," she said, pausing in her task. "I really am."

He smiled in response, no longer wishing to talk about school.

"What are you boys doing today?" she asked, knowing the look on his face meant he was done with the subject.

"We need to get into the cemetery sometime tonight," he said. "We have to salt and burn Michael McAlister's bones to get his spirit out of the school."

"Salt?" she said, turning to look at him. "What would you need salt for?"

"It's a spirit deterrent," he said. "By the time we're finished we will have, essentially, killed it."

"Okay," she said, nodding her head. "We could go out there after the sheriff leaves this morning."

"Sheriff?" Sam said, voice rising slightly.

"Don't worry," she said. "He's just coming to ask me and your brother some questions."

"What kind of questions?" he asked quickly, though Erika couldn't understand his anxiety.

"We found a body, Sam," she said. "The basic kind of questions in that situation, I'm guessing." She eyed him warily. "What's your deal?"

Sam took another long drink. "Dean and I are kind of dead."

Erika blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Not literally," he explained. "Just… every law enforcement agency in the country is under the impression that we both died a few weeks back. It wouldn't do for a small town cop to look us up and inform them they were mistaken."

"For one, Dean gave him a fake name. Simon Wright, I think," she said, and laughed. "He's lucky Burke listens to country and not AC/DC. And two, why are you guys better off dead, exactly?"

"With what we do, cops aren't exactly rearing up to help," he said. "In fact, we've both been arrested several times."

"What in the world for?" she asked. "I thought you helped people."

"We do," he answered. "It just entails a lot of illegal activities. Breaking and entering, credit card fraud, grave robbing, things like that." He paused. "Bank robbery, once. Murder."

"Who did you kill?"

"No one," he said quickly. "But you can't tell cops that a monster did it without getting yourself committed. Psych wards are a lot harder to break out of than interrogation rooms."

"Okay," she said, for lack of anything better. "That answers that question."

"Hey," Sam laughed. "You asked."

"So I did." She muttered, "And I'll never make that mistake again."

"Anyway," he continued. "We can't go into the cemetery until dark, anyway. That's another thing we have to worry about."

"Why can't you go before dark?"

"You can't exactly dig up a grave and burn the corpse in broad daylight," Sam said. "The law tends to frown on that kind of thing."

"Understood," she said, pouring batter into a skillet and listening to it sizzle. "But we'll go later tonight, anyway."

"It won't do us any good," Sam said. "They've got some kind of electronic security on the gate. I don't know enough about electronics to bypass it, and it has a brick wall too high to climb."

"Oh, don't worry about that," she said, flipping a pancake onto a plate with a spatula. "I have the password for the gate. We'll go as soon as it gets dark. Towns like this are usually in for the night about nine."

"Wait," Sam said, staring at her like she'd been speaking a foreign language. "You have the password?"

"Yes sir," she said, walking to the coffee pot to refill his cup. "I paid for it. I ought to have it."

"You paid for it?" he repeated, truly taken aback. "Why would you do that? It must have cost a fortune."

"Damn near," she admitted. "About a year or so back we started having a lot of problems with graffiti. Bored, maladjusted high school kids with too much time and spray paint on their hands." She turned another pancake onto the plate next to her hand. "My family is there, and I wouldn't have them disrespected like that. I paid the city to have the walls built around it, and there's now passwords set up to keep anyone out who isn't supposed to be in.

"So the cemetery has regular hours, and will make any special arrangements for families, but is locked tight on nights and weekends," she said. "I said that the only condition for me to pay for the work was that I would know all the passwords. My schedule doesn't always permit timely visits, and so when I go I do so on my own time."

"Your family?" he asked.

She nodded. "Mother, father, and brother."

Sam said nothing, knowing she'd heard it all before.

"You must be loaded," Sam said, bringing a much needed smile to Erika's face.

"Better believe it," she said. "I come from two hundred years of down-home Southern money. Hence the house, the prestige, and the checking account. I actually own several of the buildings in the area, among pieces of land and other things."

"Really?" he asked, incredulous. "That must take up a lot of your time."

"Yes, sir," she said, "Though I don't really deal with that kind of thing. I have lawyers and accountants for that. I just want my house and my school."

"Which is where we come in," Sam finished.

She smiled at him. "You got it."

"Dean said Ellen was your aunt," Sam said.

"Correct," she said, piling pancakes on a plate. "Not really a blood relative, though."

"What do you mean?" he asked, watching the food she was preparing with increasing interest. He was starving.

"My parents were only children," she said. "Ellen was my dad's first girlfriend." She smiled and laughed a little. "She broke his heart, poor guy. She fell head over heels in love with Bill Harvelle, and left my daddy hanging. Lucky for both of them, I guess, or I wouldn't be here. They stayed friends, though, and we grew up calling her Aunt Ellen."

"Hmm," Sam said, mouth watering at the plate of pancakes she had just put in front of him. "I didn't know that."

"Why would you?" she asked. "Knowing Aunt Ellen the way I do, I highly doubt she talks too much about the personal stuff."

"What about Jo?" he asked.

Erika laughed. "Ah, Jo. We didn't see each other often—she's just a little younger than I am—but we were good friends. Different as night and day, but good friends."

"How often do you see her?" Sam asked, pouring enough syrup on the plate to effectively clog his arteries.

"Every few months or so," Erika answered. "Same goes for Aunt Ellen. They both call here and there to check on me." She paused. "It's been a lot farther apart, though, since the Roadhouse burned down."

"They're good people," Sam said.

"That they are," she agreed. "You finish eating and I'm going to go wake your brother. Burke should be here any minute."

Sam mumbled through a mouth full of food and she left him sitting in the kitchen, oblivious to the world.

The hallway was silent when she climbed the stairs, and wondered if Dean had managed to get a decent night's sleep. She walked in his door to find him sitting on the edge of his bed, tying his boots.

"Hey," he said, looking up at her. "Don't you knock?"

She arched an eyebrow. "In my own house?"

"I could have been naked."

She savored the idea for a moment, taking time to imagine the hard muscles and narrow lines she was sure to find under his well-worn t-shirts and denim.

"You tease," she finally said with a sly smile. "Sam's already downstairs, eating. We've been gabbing like little old women."

The image made Dean laugh. "I'll bet."

"At least you're up," she said when he stood and walked to her. "Burke will probably be here soon."

"How long?"

"Within the hour," she said, pushing herself up to the tips of her toes to sweep her lips over his. Her hands brushed the side of his face and ran across the stubble he'd yet to shave off. "So we have some time."

She pulled him down to her and he went willingly, his hands pressing almost painfully into her hips. His kiss was just as potent as she remembered from the night before, and had her breath shaking devastatingly in her lungs

He whirled her around and kicked the door shut behind him, backing her up until they fell in a heap onto his bed. Heart revving in her chest, she felt her blood heat under the intensity of his attentions. Her hands fought to find skin, working their way up the back of his shirt. Her fingers traced the hard, smooth muscles she found there and pressed viciously into them when Dean worked his clever tongue around to the incredibly sensitive spot just behind her right ear. She gasped for breath and thanked God for the threadbare seconds it took to pull the first of Dean's shirts away from his body. Lights blinked furiously behind her closed eyes and bells sounded in her ears.

"Erika," Dean murmured against her throat.

"Mmm," she replied unintelligibly.

"The door," he said, trailing kisses back up to her mouth.

"What?"

"The door," he repeated and she couldn't have cared less what he meant until she opened her eyes to release that it was the lights flickering in the room that she'd been seeing. A doorbell sounded from downstairs and she groaned.

"Goddamn it," she said.

"Told you," Dean supplied, smugly taking her bottom lip between his teeth.

"Someone's at the door," she moaned, half from exasperation and half from the miracles Dean was performing with his fingers along her sides.

"Yep," he said, chuckling a little when her eyes glazed over.

"That means Burke is here," she said, kissing him.

It finally clicked, and he paused.

"Shit," Dean said, letting his head fall to her chest.

"I wondered when you were going to catch on," she said, letting out a loud breath that she knew wouldn't do a damn thing to release the tension that had been steadily building since the second Dean put his hands on her.

"Ignore him."

"Can't."

"We could kill him and bury him in the backyard," Dean offered, only half joking.

"Tempting," she said, "Unbelievably tempting. But no."

"Why not?"

"Because I would have to look his mother in the face every time I get groceries," she said. "Get up."

"Let him wait," he said, tasting the smooth skin at the curve of her neck.

"We can't," she said, shoving him gently off her. "This is the price we're paying for you dragging me off last night."

"I take it back."

"Too late," she said, but leaned over to kiss him anyway. He pushed himself up with an elbow to meet her and worked his hand around to the back of her neck. His fingers tangled in her hair, still damp and curling wildly.

_Closer, _he thought. _More. _He pulled her down to rest on him, her hands spread across the muscles chiseled into his chest. He captured her sigh with his mouth when the lights flickered again, followed quickly by the insistent sound of the doorbell.

Erika groaned again and forcibly pulled herself away from him. "I changed my mind," she said. "Let's kill him."

Dean laughed. "The sooner you get down there, the sooner he leaves," he reminded her, running his fingertips down the back of her arm and back up again.

"Yeah," she said. "Yeah, you're right." She pulled herself off the bed and ran a shaky hand through her now tussled hair.

"Get downstairs as soon as you can. He'll undoubtedly want to placate me for a while before he starts asking questions."

"Yeah," he said, fighting to get his heart rate back to a speed relatively normal. "I'll take a shower and be downstairs."

A freaking cold one, he thought, and watched Erika walk out the door.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

Erika walked down the stairs taking measured breaths, hoping Burke wouldn't be able to see her heart stampeding in her chest. If she was lucky, he wouldn't notice the flush in her cheeks, either. The last thing she needed was a pissing match between Dean and the sheriff. She hadn't heard the doorbell again, and hoped in the worst way that Burke had assumed she was asleep and decided to check back later.

Much to her surprise, she found Sam chatting amiably with Burke in the front parlor. Unless her ears deceived her, they were talking about football. Putting her initial shock aside, she entered the room.

"Erika," Burke said, standing. Sam followed suit, giving her a brief nod as she walked through the entryway. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"A little shaky still," she said honestly. "I can't quite get her out of my head."

Burke nodded his head sympathetically as they all took a seat. "That's perfectly normal."

"So I've heard," she said. "Thanks for coming out here this morning, Burke. I apologize for running off on you like that, but I just wanted to get away from the whole mess."

He smiled. "Oh, I can't say I blame you."

"Thank you just the same," she said. "It's early yet. Is there something I can get you, Burke? Coffee, anything?"

"Coffee sounds just fine," he said, watching Erika get up to leave. He was secretly thrilled that Simon what's-his-name hadn't been with her.

"I'm sorry, son," he said, turning to Sam. "I didn't quite catch your name."

"Sam," he answered, digging for the last name Erika had told him that morning. "Sam Wright."

"Oh, that's right," Burke said. "That other fellow is your brother."

"Yes, sir," Sam said.

"Where is he this morning?" he asked, torn between the man's desire for him to have fallen off a cliff and the cop's desire for a witness to be available for questioning.

"Upstairs," Sam answered. Burke was thrilled when he nodded at the stairway that led away from Erika's bedroom. "He's probably getting dressed."

"Well, I'd be much obliged if you could go collect him," he said, his tone pleasant but leaving little room for argument. "I need to ask him a few questions about what happened last night."

Sam nodded. "Sure. I'll be right back, then."

"Take your time," Burke said to his back before getting up to follow Erika in to the kitchen. He found her measuring out coffee grounds into a filter.

"You sure you're fine, Erika?" he asked her, seeing the slight tremble in her hand. "If this is still hard for you, we can work out some other time."

_Tempting, _she thought, but felt a little guilty that the reason she wanted the rain check was so she could go upstairs and work off a little frustration with Dean.

"Oh, it's okay," she said, flipping the switch that would brew the coffee. "Better now while the memory's fresh."

"All right then," he said. "Just let me know if it gets to be too much."

She smiled warmly at his concern. "I will. Thank you."

"It's brave of you to go through all this," Burke said, placing his hand lightly over hers. "Especially considering your history."

Erika immediately steeled, pulling her hand out from under his. "This has nothing to do with the skeletons in my closet, Burke Spinner," she said, quiet and cold. "Don't bring them into this."

"Now, Erika, you know I didn't mean anything by it," he said honestly.

"I do know that," she said. "Which is why you're still here."

Burke took the hint seriously. "Yes ma'am."

"Where do you want me start?"

"Just walk me through it," he said, pulling a small book and a pen out of his pocket. "Anything you can remember."

"I left the house a little after six yesterday evening," she began, feeling a little deceitful because she knew whatever she told him wouldn't solve the murders. "It took me the usual thirty minutes or so to get back into town and I stopped by the library to see if Simon and Sam were still there. I'd forgotten that it closed at six, so I figured they'd already head back to the house. I'd left them dinner and note telling them where I'd gone, so I thought my bases were covered and I headed over to the school.

"There was a faculty meeting that morning, and I was in a rush to leave so I forgot some folders I'd been meaning to take home with me for the weekend. I have a new student that needs some extra attention so I was going to work on her lesson plans for the next week. Do some progress reports, things like that."

She took a deep breath. "When I got there I noticed that Shelley's car was in the parking lot. She had been taking care of some office work this morning while we were all in the meeting, so I figured she was doing the same thing I was. I unlocked the back door—yes, it was locked—and was planning to go down the hall to tell her I was in the building when Simon caught up with me. While we were talking, I, uh, forgot to go down to the office and find Shelley.

"We were in my classroom for about twenty minutes or so. We couldn't have been in the building more than thirty. When I got the things I needed I locked my classroom door behind me and went back through the front of the building, meaning to see if she was still here. The light was on in the office, so I figured she was. We walked in and didn't really see anything at first. A trash can had been knocked over, and I followed Simon to the desk. That's when we saw her," she said, letting out a long breath. "She was, uh, lying behind the desk."

"That's good. What did you do then?" Burke asked, writing continually in the little notebook.

"I had to sit down," she said. "I'm really sorry if I messed up your crime scene in any way, but I couldn't get my legs under me."

"Don't worry about that," he answered. "We can separate you out from the evidence at the crime scene without it being compromised."

She smiled, grateful. "I sat down for a minute and Simon told me we needed to call the cops. I called you right then. We walked outside and waited for you there."

"What did I miss?" Dean said, walking into the kitchen and fixing his eyes on Burke almost immediately. "Morning, Sheriff."

"Morning," he answered, watching the man swagger in. The animosity that he'd set to simmer the night before boiled over.

"Sorry I couldn't come down earlier," he said, and looked at Erika. "I was wrapped up in something."

She could have decked him when she watched Burke's face grow hard and red as brick. She should have known Dean wouldn't be able to help antagonizing the man; it was too easy, and natural, for him and Burke would be all too willing to rise to the occasion. She made a mental note to smack him later.

"I was just telling Burke about last night," she said quickly, unwilling to mediate a brawl in her kitchen. "I'm sure he'll want your story about now, as I've finished giving him mine."

"Take a seat, Simon," he said. "We'll get down to business."

"Yes, sir," he said, sitting next to Erika who faced him with a stare that could have killed him where he sat. He gave her a puzzled look but turned back to Burke.

"I don't know what I can tell you that Erika hasn't already."

"You can start by telling me why you saw fit to follow Erika to the school when she'd already told you where she'd gone," he said, launching directly into what felt like an interrogation.

Dean shifted in his chair but didn't look away. "She'd left her purse on the table. I figured I'd catch her before she needed it."

"Erika didn't mention anything about leaving a purse," Burke countered.

"No, Burke, he's right," Erika said. "I'd forgotten it and figured that if I managed to get back to the house without getting pulled over I could live with it."

"Right," he said, but was obviously convinced of nothing. "How did you get into the school?"

"It was unlocked," he said easily. He'd actually picked the lock.

"You're sure?" he asked.

"Yeah," Dean said, frustrated. "I'm sure. Why?"

"We found evidence that there had been some instances of tampering with the locks," he said with a small gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. Dean saw the look, recognized it, and figured the sheriff was dead set on railroading him.

"Well, it wasn't me," Dean said and Burke seemed to dismiss the line of questioning.

"Did you go find Erika as soon as you were in the building?"

"Yeah," he said, knowing exactly where the conversation was going. The bastard was looking for a scapegoat. "I caught up with her in the hallway in front of her room."

"Did you stay in the classroom with her the whole time?"

"Yeah," he said, starting to get pissed off. "I wasn't just going to leave her there while some maniac's killing people."

Burke eyed him. "Of course not. About how long were you in the room?"

"No more than fifteen or twenty minutes," Dean replied.

"What happened after the two of you left the classroom?" the sheriff asked, looking for the smallest detail that would throw his story off.

"We went to the office and found the secretary on the floor," he answered and shifted his eyes to his side.

"Did you check to see if the victim was deceased," Burke asking, throwing Dean for only a moment.

"No," he said. "I knew."

"How did you know?" Burke needled. "She could have just been injured."

"But she wasn't," Dean said clearly. His tone of voice left little room for argument.

Burke eyed him, but stood slowly. "I think we're finished here," he said, turning to Erika. "But I'm going to need you to be available if I have any more questions."

"Of course," she said. "You know where to find me."

"That I do," he said and turned to Dean. "Don't leave town."

"Not planning on it," Dean said and fixed his eyes on the sheriff's. "Not any time soon."

Erika felt the challenge in the air and couldn't help but scoff at both their egos. The testosterone in the air was gagging her.

"Have a nice afternoon, Burke," she said, watching Sam walk through the door. "Sam will be happy to show you out."

"Thanks for your time," he said and followed a bewildered looking Sam to the front door. "Your brother always so cagey?"

"Yeah," Sam said, laughing a little to take the man off his guard. "He doesn't really mean to be, he's just a jerk."

At this, Burke laughed. "Some people are. You have a nice day, now, Sam."

"You, too, Sheriff," Sam replied, closing the door behind him. He heard raised voices behind him and started back to the kitchen, wondering if Dean had managed to piss somebody else off that morning. He walked in to find Erika at her stove, working furiously, and Dean sitting where he'd left him at the kitchen table.

"Come on, I said I was sorry," Dean said as Sam walked through the door.

"Oh, like hell you are," Erika quickly countered. "You just couldn't resist baiting him."

"He doesn't know what's going on," Dean said. "He has no frigging clue so he's looking for somebody to take the blame."

"And you're more than ready to let him," Erika said. "What happens if he looks you up? He'll know you lied about your name, which would only serve to make him more suspicious. And what happens if he runs your prints? He'll find out about you and Sam being alive."

Dean cocked his head. "Who told you about that?"

"I did," Sam said, speaking for the first time since he'd walked in. He did his best not to wither under the intensity of Dean's stare.

"I thought she needed to know," he readily defended.

Dean glared but said nothing. Sam walked silently from the room, sensing that this was better left to his brother and Erika. It appeared that he'd already more than done his part.

"Which I do," Erika said, shoving a plate in front of him with less grace and hospitality than she'd done previously. "What happens if he'd asked me your name while you weren't there? I would have given him your real one without a second thought and you would have been up a damn creek without a paddle."

"I had it covered," Dean defended, ignoring the food she'd thrown in front of him.

"Oh, of course you did," she said, throwing her hands in the air and walking away. "And since you've got it so well covered, you've managed to piss off the one person who can best screw you both over."

"What the hell does that mean?" Dean asked from his chair, watching her pile dishes loudly in the sink.

"It means that Burke is going to look you up anyway," she said, turning to face him with more anger than he would have expected. "He's going to look you both up and figure out that he's not who you say you are. He's not Kojak, Dean, but he's not an idiot."

"That's debatable," he muttered only to receive a furious look from Erika.

"You know what?" she said, throwing a dish rag on the counter. "Fine. Make your jokes. Tonight you're burning the damn corpse and you'll be gone. If you're not going to worry then why the hell should I?"

She walked quickly from the room, leaving Dean sitting at the table with an intense scowl on his face. She stormed out the back door, letting it slam, and headed for the garage. She was going to speed down old dirt roads until she'd worked off her mad.

She panicked for a split second when the car wasn't in her parking spot, only to remember that it was currently sitting in the parking lot of the school. Cursing under her breath, she stood in the middle of the yard tapping her foot. She now had the choice of asking Dean for a ride to go get it or walking the twenty or so miles into town. Swallowing her pride and what remained of her righteous anger, she headed back to the house.

Dean was exactly where she left him, working his way through the messily prepared breakfast she'd shoved under his nose minutes before. He looked up at her warily when she came through the swinging doors, unsure if she would yell some more or take a swing. He settled for staring at her, his mouth safely shut. He figured she'd say or do what she wanted regardless of any clumsy or mildly sincere apologies he managed to throw her way.

"I need a ride," she said. "My car is still at the school."

He eyed her. "Promise not to kill me if I agree?"

She fought the smirk curling up the corner of her mouth.

"I'll think about it," she said, and was relieved when Dean stood from the table and grabbed his keys.

"I'll let you drive if you accept my apology," he said, dangling the keys in front of her face. Better than an olive branch, he thought when he saw the fire in her eyes replaced by thrill.

"I'll think about it," she said but grabbed the keys quickly from his fingers.

--

It was a mistake, Dean thought as he clung to the handles on the door for dear life. He knew it was a bad idea when he offered, and instead went against his better judgment. He watched as Erika wove around tight corners and gunned it over hills, all the while doing at least eighty. If he lived through it, he vowed to never let her touch his car ever again. Ever.

"Jesus!" he swore when a slow-moving pickup truck pulled out in front of them. He braced himself for impact only to feel inertia pull him violently against his door. Through barely open eyelids, he saw Erika pull quickly to the left and avoid the truck. Once clear of the obstacle, she gunned it again and sent him back against the seat.

Erika howled and cheered beside him, laughing in a manner he could have sworn was nothing short of maniacal. She groaned along with the vibrant roar of the engine and Dean tightened his grip, doubtful that he would ever have the chance to get out of the car in one piece. He shifted his eyed to see her face flushed and eyes wild, staring at the road ahead with steely determination and what he feared was challenge. He marveled that a woman who labeled everything in her kitchen could have a reckless streak a mile wide.

When they pulled into the school parking lot, Dean had to fight to keep himself from falling to his knees and kissing the asphalt. Instead, he climbed out of the passenger seat and pressed his lips to the car's roof.

"I'm sorry, baby," he said, running his hands over the cool metal. "I didn't know she was going to do that. It'll never happen again, I swear."

"The hell it won't," she said, walking around to the passenger's side of the car and grabbing Dean by the collar of his shirt. She pulled him into a scorching kiss that sent every ounce of blood rushing south. It was all teeth and tongue and uncontrollable fire that had thunder roaring in his ears. Air was a dim memory when she pulled away from him, leaving him dazed and aroused.

"Jesus Christ," he finally said, panting and struggling to clear his head. "Does this mean you're not mad at me anymore?"

"I'm still plenty mad," she said, running her tongue over a slightly swollen bottom lip. Dean's heart rate hit the roof, broke through it, and kept right on racing. "I just plan on working off the rest of it," she said, leaving enough ambiguity in her statement to have Dean staring after her. He watched her twirl her keys in her hand as she walked away from him, hips swinging from side to side in a manner he'd never seen her use.

"You're racing me back," she called over her shoulder and he fought to get his breathing back to normal. She climbed into the car and turned the engine over, waiting for him to do the same.

"She's trying to kill me," he said but circled the car and took his seat behind the steering wheel. He'd barely turned the key when he watched her fishtail out of the parking lot in her cherry red Firebird. He let out a shaky breath and wondered what would happen if he beat her.

--

He never got the chance to find out. Erika had left the Impala, shocked, in her dust before she was two miles out on the road that led to her house. She contemplated slowing down to let him catch up before pressing her gas pedal down to the floor and feeling the car lurch forward. Def Leppard pounded in her ears at deafening volumes, urging her to go faster. She eagerly agreed, going airborne for a few seconds over the top of a hill before landing with a thud that rattled the car.

When she whirled through the gates of the house, a heavy weight settled quickly in the pit of her stomach that she understood immediately and took the time to enjoy. She so rarely experienced the pure, unadulterated lust that currently penetrated her system and had almost forgotten what it felt like. She savored the sensations as though they would be her last.

The Impala followed her through the gate seconds later, with an annoyed-looking Dean at the wheel. She drove around to the back of the house, where a five-car garage waited patiently for the signal from her remote control to open the door. Speeding in, she barely missed the garage door scraping the car when she threw the car into park and killed the engine. She took a deep breath and climbed out of the car to watch Dean pull in next to her.

"You're out of your damn mind," he said, slamming the door behind him. The look on Erika's face had him almost backpedaling, convinced it was rage. He'd never expected her temper to be so powerful. Or long-lasting, for that matter. "What did I do now?"

She answered with a look that said very clearly, _Come get me. _Her black hair curled wildly around her face and the green-gray eyes that he'd found fascinating days before were now feral and menacing. A distinct flush had formed itself along her cheekbones and Dean swallowed when longing, hot and primal, kicked him hard in the gut. He didn't think he'd ever seen a woman he wanted more. He vowed that moment to never tell her that he'd let her win.

Dean pulled her against him without another word, his mouth seizing hers in a flurry of movement. Erika clung to him for dear life, just as terrified of what would happen to her if she gave in as what would happen to her if she didn't. His hands on her back brought her closer to him, but the contact wasn't nearly enough. Wanting her was warring with something else in his brain, and he couldn't figure out what it was. He was getting what he wanted, wasn't he? He'd convinced himself that this could be just like any other girl he'd talked into bed with him, despite knowing deep down that it wasn't true.

When he felt her breath rattle in her chest, Dean realized with a start that it wasn't just lust that had his brain dazed over—it was genuine affection. The frantic pounding of his heart came just as much from his need for her as the feel of her against his body. He cared about her, and suddenly realization disappeared in the face of intimidation. The idea that he could care for a woman again, really care, hadn't occurred to him. With that came the possibility that Erika cared, too. That sudden epiphany in mind, he pulled away from her and started out of the garage.

"Dean?" Erika finally managed to call after finding her breath again. "Dean?" She jogged after him and stopped a few feet behind him when he paused. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he said, his voice rough as gravel. "I'm fine."

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked, suddenly overwhelmingly self-conscious. She was surprised to realize she'd thought it, much less said the words aloud.

"What? No! Jesus," he said, rubbing his hand over his face. "No, of course not."

"Then what's wrong?" she asked. "I know, I was… uh, overzealous. I just—it's kind of how I work off steam." She laughed bitterly. "What you must think of me. I can't imagine."

"No, it's not you," he said, fighting the unbearable desire to touch her. Distracted and uncomfortable, he almost found himself finishing the biggest line in history. "It's… it's not you."

"Then what is it?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. Dean saw her walls go up faster than he could have predicted. He'd forgotten in the midst of all his pining that she had been through hell, too—she had walls and defenses of her own.

"I can't do this to you," he said, fixing her with a stare she could have sworn looked sorrowful. The sight confused her endlessly. "I won't do this to you."

"Do what to me?" she asked. "I came on to you first."

"No, it's not that," he said, trying to find the words he knew wouldn't make a damn bit of difference to her in the long run. "It's not just that."

"Ambiguity isn't becoming, Dean," she said, growing impatient as she fought to retrieve the pieces of her dignity. "Get on with it."

"You're not just a good time for me, Erika," he said, refusing to look away from her. "Maybe I am to you, but I don't care. I'm not going to start something that I'm not going to be able to finish."

Erika scoffed angrily. "Oh, God, spare me. If you didn't want me, that's all you had to say. I don't need your concern."

She started to walk away and Dean caught her arm. She had almost reared back to hit him before she saw the look in his eyes. She knew devastating remorse when she saw it.

"Don't go," Dean pleaded before clearing his throat. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" she said, yanking her arm away from him. "You're not making a hell of a lot of sense today if you haven't noticed by now."

"Yeah, I have. I just don't know what to say that won't piss you off," he admitted. "Words are Sam's thing, not mine."

"You don't say," she said sarcastically and watched him take the blow in stride. He fixed her with a stare, looking her straight in the eye.

"Get mad at me all you want. I do want you," he said, bitter laughter rising up from his throat. "I want you more than you can imagine. That's the point. I need you more than I should."

Erika stared, completely thrown off by the new direction their conversation was taking. "I'm not pissed off yet," she said in a calmer tone she believed she was capable of.

"I told you last night that a good time was all I could ever be to you," he continued. "Well, you're more than that to me. I thought that if I put myself on the line, it wasn't a big deal. I was the one to have to deal with it, but I refuse to drag you with me."

She studied him, trying to gauge the truth of his words. She wasn't sure how she felt about him quite yet, and wondered if there was more to Dean than an impressive libido and a cocky smile. Even if there was, he was making quite an effort to keep it from her. Knowing it was the most she could do for her damaged ego, she forced her lips into a tight line and turned her chin up to face him.

"If this is your decision, then this is your decision—even if I don't quite understand it." She looked up at him. "And I know you're not going to tell me why, so I think this is where I take my cue."

She turned away from him and Dean knew he couldn't go after her again. He watched her walk away, wondering if he would ever be able to look her in the eye after that. As much as he hated himself for it, his cowardice was going to keep her whole. If he let himself get caught up in her—the same way he had Cassie years before—it was going to hurt her even more than it would him. He would be gone, in Hell, and she would be left mourning the loss of another.

Dean's jaw clenched. Erika in mind, he was more convinced that his decision was the right one.

**Please review! Thanks so much!**

**-Alyssa**


	10. Chapter Ten

**Author's Note:**

**Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! Keep them coming!**

**Can I just say this about Lazarus Rising?**

**Oh. My. God.**

**Chapter Ten**

Burke Spinner was sitting at his desk wondering over Dean when his phone rang. It shocked him out of his thoughts and he picked it up, hoping it wasn't another damn domestic disturbance call. There had been three in that afternoon alone, and he hadn't the patience to deal with another.

"Sheriff Spinner," he said reflexively into the phone.

"Hey, Sheriff, this is Sam," the voice said. "Sam Wright? I'm Erika's friend."

His mind clicked on a face. Sam was the tall kid with a jerk brother.

"Sam," he said amiably, recalling the boy's easy shuffle and timid manners. "What can I do for you? Is everything okay over there?"

"Oh, yeah, everyone's fine," Sam answered quickly, apparently reading his mind. "I just, uh, had a favor to ask if you don't mind."

"Go ahead," Burke said, leaning back in his chair to prop his feet on his desk.

"Well, I'm a student at Maryville and my major is criminal justice," Sam said. "I was hoping, if it wasn't too out of line, if you could walk me through the scene at the school for a paper I'm doing."

Burke frowned. He wasn't entirely sure it was a good idea.

Sam quickly added, "I have to pick someone higher up in law enforcement and write a paper about them, and why they do what they do. Some of it will be personal but I was hoping you could tell me something about procedure, too. You know, because you have the best idea of what's going on and stuff. I figure that since the murders are a big deal and all, I could get a better grade if I do a paper on the lead investigator."

Ego thoroughly stroked, Burke smiled into the phone. "Well, I think that sounds just fine. Do you have any particular time you want to go?"

Sam pretended to think for a moment. "How about later this afternoon? Four or five, maybe?"

"That works for me," he said. "I'll meet you in the front of the school at four-thirty."

"Thanks so much, Sheriff," he said. "I really appreciate it."

"My pleasure," Burke answered. "Bye now."

He hung up the phone and smiled to himself. He was going to be in some college kid's paper. He could honestly say that was a first.

--

**Earlier**

As much as Erika wanted to be mad at Dean, she couldn't. She would have loved nothing more than to curse his name and rue the day he'd ever aimed that heartbreaker grin in her direction, but she couldn't do that any more than she could sprout wings and fly away. So instead of hitting the bottle of Jack Daniels and her collection of Joan Jett records, she sat in the swing on the back porch and watched the clouds roll lazily by.

In a weird way, she almost understood him. She had no idea how, but she did. Part of her felt the same way he did—that what they were doing was dangerous, for both of them. She hadn't been lying earlier; he did confuse her. She didn't quite understand why, but she wasted no time pretending that her feelings toward Dean Winchester were ambivalent. She cared about him. It gave her some comfort to know that his feelings for her weren't, either.

Dean wasn't telling her something, of that she was certain, but knew that it probably wasn't her business to begin with. She had a feeling that theirs was a family of secrets, and she wasn't in that particular loop. Mutual friends aside, she was just another job for them. What she felt for the two was genuine, that much she was willing to admit. If she could ignore the spark that was between her and Dean, she would survive the rest of the ordeal and be able to go on with her life long after the Impala had left her driveway in the dust. He obviously wanted their attraction out of the picture, and she would oblige him.

"You busy?" she heard Dean's voice ask her over her shoulder. She turned to face him. "I wanted to make sure you weren't going to tear my head off or anything if I tried to talk to you."

"That depends," she said gently. "What do you plan to tell me?"

Dean laughed a little in spite of himself. "Sam has a plan. He said it could get rid of the spirit now instead of waiting for tonight. But he, uh, needs your help."

Erika nodded, pleased that her normal life would be able to continue sooner than she thought.

"Okay, you're off the hook." She smiled, because it was easier than frowning. "For now, at least."

"Good to know," he said, climbing up the steps of the porch and waiting for her to get out of the swing. He let her walk in ahead of him and lead him through the house and back to the kitchen, where they found Sam with his coffee cup and a notebook. He twirled his pen between his fingertips and looked at the two as they walked through the door.

"Erika, I have a few questions if you don't mind."

"Sure, sugar. Shoot," she said, taking a seat across from Sam while Dean leaned against the counter several feet away.

"How many cops are employed in Coleman?"

She considered the question, not sure where it was going.

"There are four full-time, including Burke," she said. "There's another ten or so volunteer policemen that are called when we need them, like in the case of a severe traffic accident, natural disaster, or something along those lines."

"What are the shifts like?" he asked.

"I'm not sure I know," she said, thoughtful. "Burke usually takes the day shift Monday through Friday, but he's been doing a lot of overtime lately because of the murders. I think there are usually two on duty and two on call, though. Burke talks about these things but I usually don't pay that much attention."

"You were telling me earlier that you had some problems with vandalism in the cemetery, right?" he asked and continued when Erika nodded her head. "I'm guessing all that increased security comes with regular drive-bys from police?"

"Yep."

"Where's this going, Sam?" Dean asked, impatient to actually do something rather than sit around and discuss it.

"I think I've got a plan," he said, "A way for Burke to lead me onto the scene, giving you guys a chance to salt and burn the bones without worrying about getting caught."

"Alright, I'm listening," Dean said.

"Okay, this is the deal," Sam started, hunching his shoulders. "I'm going to convince Burke to take me onto the scene pretending to be a student who wants to write a paper on him."

"Burke will fall head over heels for that," Erika added. "He just loves to have his ego stroked."

"Good. Then I won't have to work so hard to sell it," Sam continued. "That way, while he takes me to the school, I'll have a chance to look over the scene and see what I can find. While I'm doing that, you can go to the cemetery and take care of McAlister. Since Burke will be occupied, the other deputy on duty will be forced to stay in the office and take calls rather than doing the drives by the cemetery."

"You're a genius," Dean said but smiled quickly. "Except for one little thing."

"What?" Sam asked, having no idea what he could have possibly overlooked short of a tornado.

"We still can't get into the damn cemetery because it's locked up like Fort Knox."

Sam looked to Erika, but surmised that she hadn't gotten around to telling Dean what she'd told him that morning.

"I have the password," Erika said, turning to him. "I'll get us in."

Dean paused a second, then nodded his head.

"Super," he finally said. "Boy genius, make it happen."

**A/N: I know this was short. That's why I posted two chapters. Please review!**


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

Dean and Erika waited a few minutes after Sam had left in the Impala before following him out of the house. They walked to the garage in complete silence, neither quite sure of what they should say.

Erika watched as Dean loaded the supplies he'd gotten out of the trunk of the Impala. She saw a canister of rock salt and realized they weren't kidding about salting the corpse. Shaking her head, Erika made room in her significantly smaller trunk for the materials. She watched him pull two guns out of the duffle bag and she flinched.

"What?" he asked, noticing her reaction.

"I thought we were just going to pour salt on it and burn it," she said, eyeing the bulge in his shirt where she knew he kept the first of his guns.

"We are," he said.

"Then what do you need the guns for?"

He understood her aversion, but shrugged. "I always keep one on me. I never know if I'm going to need it."

Erika nodded her head, assenting.

"Fine," she said, resigned. She knew she would eye it the entire night but refused to ask him to leave it behind, knowing it wouldn't matter even if she did. Then, of course, there was always the possibility that he would need it. That thought in her head, she decided she could deal with it for the time being.

She watched Dean load the remainder of their supplies into the trunk without saying a word—she didn't know what she would say even if she wanted to talk. For now, she was content to let him do all the work. When he'd finished loading, he walked around to where she was leaned against the car and held his hand out.

"What?" she asked, looking at it as though he'd grown another finger.

"Keys," he said, watching her expectantly.

She stared at him, confused, until it dawned on her.

"Oh, I don't think so, Dean," she said, walking away from him. "Not in a million years."

"That's not fair and you know it," he called after her and started following. "I let you drive mine."

"That was different," she said, letting him catch up with her. "That was… earlier."

"Yeah, it was," he said sarcastically. "So fair's fair. Hand them over."

Swallowing the nervous lump in her throat, she took the keys out of her front pocket and dropped them into his eager palm. He gave her a menacing smile before climbing into the driver's seat. Erika wearily walked around and let herself drop in beside him. Regretting her decision already, she watched as he turned the key roughly in the ignition.

"Careful," she said, wincing. "This isn't the Impala."

"You're telling me," he said, pulling the lever to make the seat go farther back. He already felt like he was in a damn matchbox.

--

When they pulled up to the gate of the cemetery, dark storm clouds rolled around in the skies and the wind was starting to pick up. It was getting to be spring, which meant storms. Erika normally enjoyed them, but tonight she wanted them to pass straight over. Let Knoxville get hit, she thought. Tonight they had work to do.

Dean stayed in the car while she went to the gate to enter her passwords. She pulled the gate aside when it opened, allowing him to pull the Firebird through. Shutting the gate behind her and engaging the lock, Erika climbed back into the passenger's seat.

"Do you know where we're going?" she asked, watching him scan the cemetery.

"Vaguely," he admitted. "Where's the oldest part of the cemetery?"

"Back and to the left," she said. "Is that where this McAlister guy is buried?"

"I think so, yeah," he said. "It says he was buried on a family plot after he was hanged. Since it was way back when, I'm guessing it would be with the older section."

"Makes sense," Erika said. Dean wove the Firebird around the tighter curves of the cemetery, working his way around to the back. He parked at the edge of it and climbed out, scanning the tombstones in hopes of catching one that read McAlister. He wasn't exactly surprised when he couldn't find it right off the bat. He rarely ever caught even the small breaks.

"Okay, let's spread out," he said, slinging the duffle bag over his shoulder and grabbing the shovel before slamming the trunk. "You take left, I'll take right. Hopefully one of us will find it before too long."

Erika nodded. "You're the expert."

They fanned out, scanning the names on the headstones as they walked. Some were as old as the late eighteenth century, and Erika had to take a closer look to make out the lettering on the stone. She'd yet to see a headstone later than 1920, though, and she kept looking. After a while she got bored and started reading epitaphs without really looking at the names. When she realized what she was doing, she groaned and wondered how many she'd overlooked.

"Are you sure we're in the right place?" she called to Dean, who was walking down a row fifty feet away.

"Not really," he answered and Erika ran her fingers through her hair in frustration.

She'd almost resolved to go sit in the car when she watched Dean stop suddenly at a small white stone.

"Bingo!" he called out and she jogged over to his side. "Michael McAlister: Born 1908, died 1931."

"Great," she said, eyeing the angry clouds over their heads. "Let's do this and get the hell out. It's going to rain like crazy sometime tonight."

"Well, hope it holds off," Dean said, throwing his duffle to the ground and taking off his jacket. "We're going to be out here a while. Digging up dirt is a hell of a lot easier than shoveling out mud."

"I was afraid you'd say that," Erika said, looking to the sky again. "What do you need me to do?"

"There's not a hell of a lot to do," he said, rolling up his shirt sleeves. "We've only got the one shovel, so I'm going to dig up the damn thing. When I finish we'll torch it and get out of here."

"What about Sam?"

"Sam's gonna occupy Andy Griffith for a while, long enough for us to do this and get out," he said. "I'm supposed to text him when we're done so he knows when it's safe to leave."

"And then it'll be over?"

"Then it's over," he said and pushed the shovel into the ground.

Sam pulled up in front of the school at four-thirty on the dot, only seconds before he watched Burke's cruiser park a few feet behind him in his rearview mirror. Certain his story was believable, he fixed Burke with a mildly nervous smile and waved. He would take a notebook and pen into the building, jotting down fake notes while Burke walked him through the scene. With any luck, Dean and Erika would be able to take care of the corpse before too long and he could get out of there.

"Sam!" Burke called, shutting his car door and walking toward him. "How are you doing this afternoon?"

"Fine," Sam said.

"I've gotta say, your call surprised me some," he said, hooking his thumbs in his front pockets.

"Yeah, I know," Sam said. "I'm sorry about that. I wasn't planning on doing my homework this early, really. It's my final, you know, but with everything that's going on I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to talk to you."

Burke seemed pleased by this and Sam relaxed a little.

"Now, I don't blame you," he said. "We've been getting a lot of publicity and maybe this'll be good for an easy A."

They started walking up the front steps of the school, stepping under the stark yellow crime scene tape that remained from the night before. Burke pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the front door, holding it open for Sam to enter ahead of him. Sam looked around and noticed the frosted glass door that was also marked off with crime tape. He guessed it was the office, and looked at it from the corner of his eye as Burke led him straight down the hallway that he and Dean had used a few nights before.

"The first thing we noticed," Burke started, "Was that the locks on the back door had been tampered with. They were picked, in other words."

Sam bit the side of his cheek to keep from smiling as he pretended to write Burke's words down.

"We know because the tumblers were scratched," he said. "The person that did it probably didn't have much experience, because there are easier ways of doing it as well as ways to cover your tracks."

At this Sam grinned, filing it away to tell his brother later.

­­­­­­­­­­­--

Dean tossed the shovel up out of the whole and pulled himself out, gratefully accepting the water bottle Erika held out for him. He drank heavily and let out a long breath, wiping his arm over his forehead.

"Do you want me to take a turn at the shovel?" she asked him. "I feel like an idiot just sitting here."

"It doesn't usually take this long," Dean told her. "Most of the time it's me and Sam working together."

"Here, let me take a shot," she said, pulling herself off the ground. She pulled a rubber band from her pocket and tied her hair up and out of her way. She noticed the way Dean was looking at her and said, "What?"

"I didn't think spoiled little rich girls knew how to do manual labor," he teased, watching her snatch the shovel from his hand.

"Shows what the hell you know," she said. "Do I look like some wimpy debutante to you?"

Looking her over, he grinned. "Not even close."

"Then you're smarter than you look."

She jumped down about four feet into the progress Dean had already made and stuck the shovel into the ground, bringing the dirt up and over the side. She felt the wooden handle digging into her hands and though she wouldn't admit it to Dean in a hundred years, she knew she was going to have blisters by the end of the night. Biting her lip, she continued with her work while Dean watched.

"I have a question," he asked and Erika stopped shoveling to look up at him.

"What?"

"Why doesn't the idea that ghosts are real freak you out?" he asked and watched her consider the answer. "Most people don't believe, not really, even if they've seen one with their own eyes. And here you are, digging up a body to torch, no questions asked."

Erika shrugged, leaning her arms on the handle of the shovel. "I don't know. Jo told me once when we were teenagers and of course I didn't believe her. I thought she was trying to scare me."

"Jo?" Dean asked. "Ellen's daughter?"

"The very same," she said. "Anyway, that's when Jo told me how her dad died. I knew she wouldn't lie about that, not in a million years, so I've had a very tentative belief in this kind of thing since."

"Tentative belief is a long way from participating," he observed.

"It is," she conceded. "When these murders started at my school, it killed me to think that someone would target the people here. After Burke told me all the details, though, I called Ellen. She said that she knew someone who could help."

"And that's where we come in," Dean said.

"Bingo," she said, going back to her task. "You guys showed up that night, before I'd even had time to prepare myself."

"Yeah, we're good at that," he said, ducking away from a pile of dirt she'd thrown in his direction. "Hey, watch it."

She threw another pile that landed in his lap. It was immature, she knew, but it had her smiling again. She listened to him curse and brushed the dirt off her hands with satisfaction.

Hey, you couldn't be grown-up all the time.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­--

Sam had been walked through almost every insignificant detail of the entire building before Burke decided to let him near one of the murder scenes. He'd started taking actual notes before long, noticing some things that cops look for at a scene that he hadn't known previously. At least that way if Burke wanted to see his notes, he could show them and get away with his story. He followed the sheriff through the dark hallway and into the front office, where the first and third murders occurred.

"The first victim was the principal, Lyle Evans," Burke said, nodding his head in the direction of an office just down the hall. "The secretary, our third victim, found him the next morning when she came in to work."

Burke led him down the hallway and opened the principal's office with a key from his chain.

"No one's moved anything yet, I see," he speculated. "Anyway, Mr. Evans was found in that corner. He was stabbed to death with a pair of scissors."

Sam nodded his head absently and his eye caught something to his periphery. Rather than go for it himself and piss off the sheriff, he pointed with a pen.

"What's that?" he asked, hanging back while the sheriff turned to investigate.

"Hmm," Burke said, bending down to look at it. "If I didn't know any better, it looks like a hearing aid. They must have missed it when they collected the body."

"I thought he was deaf," Sam asked, genuinely concerned.

"Oh, not Mr. Evans," Burke said. "He couldn't hear worth a plug nickel without these, but he wasn't deaf."

Sam's heart lurched. "What about the other two victims? Weren't they deaf?"

Burke considered the question. "No, I don't believe so. We found the secretary—Shelley Collins—with a cell phone in her hand and the janitor with a pair of headphones around his neck. I don't think any of them were deaf." He studied Sam. "Why?"

Sam quickly shrugged, downplaying the fact that his mind was racing.

"I just thought that since the school was for the deaf, then the staff would be, too," he said noncommittally. "Hey, I need to use the restroom. Where is it?"

Burke nodded. "Straight down that main hallway, near the end of it. It'll be on your left."

"Thanks," Sam said, fingering his cell phone in his pocket as he left Burke standing in the office, alone. He walked until he got to the bathroom, and ducked inside to pull out his cell phone.

"Dean?" he asked into the mouthpiece. "I think we have a problem."

**A/N: These were kind of filler chapters if you couldn't tell, though there is some relevant information to be found. Please review! I should have the next chapter up tomorrow sometime. **


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Author's Note:**

**Keep the reviews coming! I can't tell you how much I appreciate them. They're pretty much my favorite. Lol**

**Without further ado!**

**Chapter Twelve**

"What about you?" Erika asked. She stopped digging for a moment to catch her breath. She hadn't remembered that playing in the dirt could be so tiring. Luckily, she could feel the earth beneath her feet starting to get spongy. She took that to mean she was getting close to their target.

"What about me?" Dean asked in return, sharpening a knife with a whetstone on his knee. Erika noticed how reflexive the motion was, and wondered if it was his equivalent of cooking.

"Why did you get into this?" she clarified, "The whole ghost hunting thing. It's not like they offer 'Burning a Corpse 101' at the local community college."

Dean laughed and seemed to study her for a moment before returning to his task.

"I was raised this way," he said finally, knowing it was a cop-out. "I've never known anything else."

"Never?" Erika asked, finding it hard to believe that a child wouldn't have the chance to be a child; hard to believe and tragic. She felt unbelievably lucky that she and Nick had their chance at innocence.

Dean paused before he answered. He considered that she'd told him the truth about her family, and so she deserved the same respect from him.

"I was four, actually," he said. "This—uh—demon killed our mother and my dad was hell bent on tracking it down." He laughed bitterly. "That was a poor choice of words."

Erika said nothing, but kept her eyes on him. Though it gave her some alarm to hear him speak of demons with absolute conviction, she gave him leave to tell his story in his own way.

"Anyway, he raised me and Sammy on the road," he said, clearing his throat. "We've hunted just about everything there is at some time or another. We finally found it—the demon. Killed the son of a bitch where he stood. It felt weird, you know, to have the whole course of your life lead up to one moment and then in an instant, you're finished. It feels like you've ended what you spent your whole life after and you haven't got any purpose left."

Erika watched him. "Seems to me you've found one."

Dean scoffed. "Hunting? Yeah, it is what it is," he said. "But it won't be for long."

Erika frowned at his words. "What does that mean?"

Dean mentally swore, wondering how he'd managed to spill so much.

"Oh, nothing," he said. He laughed. "I'm looking at retirement. Long overdue, I say."

She knew it was bullshit, but she also knew he wasn't going to give another inch so she picked up her shovel and went back to work as Dean's cell phone started to ring.

"Yeah, Sammy," she heard him answer as she swung another pile of dirt out of the hole. "What the hell do you mean we have a problem?"

"You heard me," Sam said over the phone. "None of the victims were deaf, Dean."

"What are you talking about?"

"None of them," Sam repeated. "The principal was extremely hearing impaired, but he wore hearing aids. The secretary and the janitor both had normal hearing."

"Hold on," Dean said and turned to Erika, who had just struck the edge of the shovel into a hollow-sounding obstruction.

"Got it!" she yelled and started pushing dirt away from the top of the pine box.

"Erika, hold on a second," he said, walking to the edge. "Were the janitor and the secretary deaf?"

"What?" she asked, looking up from the massive hole in the ground.

"Were the janitor and the secretary deaf?" he repeated earnestly.

"No," she said, confused. Her eyes brightened almost immediately, though when she finally started catching on. "Son of a bitch. No, they weren't! Neither was Principal Evans!"

"Damn it," he said, putting the phone back to his mouth. "Sam, we've been looking at the wrong damn person."

"What do we do now?" Sam asked. "We're back at square one."

"Not exactly," Dean said. "But get the hell out of there the first chance you get and we'll meet back up at the house. We'll figure out where to go from there."

Dean closed his phone and tossed it aside, reaching out to help Erika pull herself out of the grave they'd dug.

"What now?" Erika asked breathlessly, doing her best to wipe the dirt from her hands onto her now filthy jeans. "We just dug up a body for no damn reason."

Dean shrugged, but couldn't hide his temper. "Burn it anyway," he said, taking the shovel from her hands and jumping down into the hole. "It'll save us a trip if he decides to get pissed and come back swinging."

Erika watched him stab the shovel into the top of the pine box, splintering the rotted wood in two. He pushed the two halves aside, revealing an almost bare skeleton wearing the clothes it was buried in.

"Creepy," Erika commented as she handed Dean the salt and lighter fluid. He poured both over the length of the casket and pulled himself out again.

Dean reached into his pocket for a match and struck it against the side of the box before letting it fall. Erika watched, amazed, as the coffin burst into flame. She turned to Dean and saw only a clenched jaw and an aggravated expression.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­--

Sam shoved his cell phone in his pocket and headed back into the hallway, running through a list of plausible excuses in his head. He'd decided that an unfortunate friend's car trouble in Knoxville would do the trick. Before he could make it back to the office, though, a loud cry pierced the stillness that had Sam's blood running cold. He took off at a dead sprint, his long legs carrying him through the rest of the hallway in bare seconds. He ran through the office doors, ignoring the crime scene tape, to find Burke swinging his gun around the room wildly. Sam had barely ducked before Burke put a round in the door frame.

"Stop!" Sam shouted over the man's rapid breathing. "Stop, it's me!"

"Sam?" Burke asked shakily.

"Yeah, it's me," Sam said, pulling himself off the floor and putting his hands instantly in the air. The last thing he needed was another bullet wound. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Me?" Burke asked, clearing his throat and keeping the gun aimed at Sam. "Were you just in here?"

"No," Sam said, watching the barrel of the gun intently. "I went to the bathroom, remember?"

"I'm losing my mind," Burke whispered, shaking his head.

"Why, what did you see?"

Burke looked up at Sam, shock evident on his face. He took a deep breath and flicked on the safety of the gun and, much to Sam's relief, replaced the pistol in his shoulder holster.

"It's not possible," he said, more to himself than to Sam. "It's just not possible. It's a crime scene, this building is locked. I checked all the doors and windows myself."

"Burke," Sam said slowly. "I need you to tell me what you saw."

"A woman," he said. "I saw a woman. She was—uh—bleeding. Right here." He pointed to his chest. "She was trying to say something, but I couldn't understand her."

"Where was she?"

"At the door," Burke said, eyes flicking to the doorway as though he expected to see her again. "She looked at me and when I drew my gun she disappeared." He laughed almost hysterically. "Right into thin air."

"We need to leave," Sam said. "Right now."

"That's not happening," Burke said, his voice slowly getting stronger. "She could be injured. We need to search the building for her."

"You said it yourself," Sam said before Burke could leave the office. "She disappeared into thin air."

He shrugged in response. "My eyes were playing tricks on me. Come on, let's go find her."

"Something tells me she's beyond help," Sam said quietly but followed Burke out of the office.

They walked down every hallway in turn, listening to the sound of their shoes reverberate menacingly off the walls and back to them. Neither made an attempt to converse, choosing silence over whatever awkward phrases could have been passed between them. Sam wished every second that he had his EMF or his shotgun. Walking with Burke, he was completely defenseless.

Burke made sure to check every classroom as he went, convinced that somewhere a woman was hurt. By the time they'd finished checking the first wing he was almost desperate. He either found the woman, or some trace of her, or he would know that he was going crazy. Determined not to be, he soldiered on. He found, though, that he didn't quite have the guts to call out.

When they passed through the teacher's lounge, Sam sent out a small prayer of relief when he spotted the small saltshaker on the table in the middle of the room. He shook it a bit, thrilled to realize it was almost full. It wasn't his shotgun, but it was the best he could do for the time being. He slipped it into his pocket without Burke noticing and kept up his pace.

Before they could leave the room and head for the next wing of the building, they had to pass through a small kitchen adjacent to the lounge. The sound of glass shattering had them frozen in their tracks before they could as much as reach for the doorknob. Sam took the lead this time as they walked back into the lounge to find a porcelain coffee cup smashed into pieces on the floor.

Burke swallowed hard and tentatively called, "Ma'am?"

"No," Sam whispered. "Don't."

Burke pushed him aside and continued calling. "Ma'am, come on out. You're injured, you need medical assistance." There was no answer. "We're not here to hurt you. We can help."

Their only response was another crash from the kitchen. Neither moved, Burke from fear and Sam from the belief that they were better off staying still. If he had the proper weaponry, it wouldn't have been an issue. This time, since he only had a saltshaker as a defense, he stayed put.

Quickly following the stillness left after the second crash, a voice pounded at their ears. Burke jumped at the sudden volume and covered his ears as it got louder. Sam winced as the yelling continued, trying his best to make out the words he didn't think were even English. Giving up, he grabbed the back of Burke's shirt and yelled in his ear.

"We need to get out of here," Sam said and was grateful when Burke nodded his assent. They moved simultaneously to the door, only to have it jerk out of their grasp and slam shut. Sam tugged at the handle, unable to budge it. He turned to Burke, who looked nothing short of terrified. Sam tried the other exit in the kitchen, leaving Burke standing at the other door. He found that door just as immovable.

"Damn it," Sam swore, gripping the handle and shaking it as hard as he could. He plowed his shoulder into the heavy wooden door, only to be rewarded with a pain he knew wouldn't go away as easily as it had come.

"S-Sam?" he heard Burke yell over the voice in the air.

"Yeah?" Sam said, giving up on moving the door. His next thought was to break a window and climb out, but didn't get the chance to test his theory as he walked into the main room to find Burke and a redheaded woman face to face, her mouth moving viciously in time with the yelling in the room. He watched as Burke's breath curled into steam and away from his mouth, the temperature in the room having dropped twenty degrees almost instantly.

The woman closed her mouth and turned her head slowly to face Sam. He instantly noticed the wound in her chest, watching the blood stain the front of an otherwise spotless white shirt. Her eyes were an icy blue above prominent cheekbones and they regarded him with nothing less than unfathomable rage.

Without even a blink of her eye, a chair threw itself in Sam's direction. He dodged it quickly, falling onto his back. The woman advanced on him, moving in what looked like a seamless glide rather than footsteps. Sam inched his way backward and away from her, hoping to distract her with his supposed escape rather than with the hand he'd stuck in his pocket. He gripped the shaker violently in his hand, waiting for her to get close enough for him to use it.

When she started yelling again, Sam realized she wasn't exactly yelling—she was trying to talk. He watched as a butter knife on the table started to shake and he almost faltered before it could become airborne. He watched it carefully, deciding that the woman didn't have completely control just yet. It was enough, though, to kill three people. When the knife started to rise, Sam popped the top off the shaker and ducked out of the knife's way as it flew past his face. Searing hot pain erupted along his cheekbone and he put a hand to it, feeling the warm wet spread across his fingertips.

Her yelling got louder as she got closer to him, the fury in her face all but staggering. Before he could decipher was she was saying, she stepped just close enough to be in his range of fire. He threw the contents of the saltshaker at her, and she lifted her arms to shield herself. The defense was futile, and she let out a piercing scream that Sam was sure would burst his eardrums. She dissolved in a flash and Sam got up quickly, knowing the salt's effects wouldn't last long.

Praying almost audibly, he turned the doorknob to find it blessedly unlocked. He flung the door open and grabbed Burke, who was frozen in place. Sam dragged him into the hallway, after which the man caught on quickly. They ran from the school and out into the fierce wind of an oncoming storm.

"Jesus," Burke said, violently grasping for breath. His teeth chattered, and he wasn't' sure if it was from nerves or from the cold that still seemed to permeate his skin. "Jesus Christ. What was that thing?"

"A spirit," Sam said, catching his own breath. "A really pissed off one."

Burke looked at him quickly, deciding whether or not he believed him. Sam hoped he picked an explanation that wouldn't get him arrested.

"You're not a college student, are you?" he asked and Sam laughed.

"Not exactly," he said. "I used to be, though, if it makes you feel any better."

"Not really," Burke answered and the two men shared a nervous laugh.

--

When Sam came through the doors of the house Dean and Erika were sitting in the living room, waiting for him. Both had tried hiding their worry with restless movement, and now Dean had taken up pacing while Erika sat in a deep armchair, holding her knees up to her chest. They looked up instantly when they heard him walk through the front door. Neither of them missed Sam's heavy breathing and Erika went straight to him, frowning heavily at the blood still running down his cheek.

"What happened?" Dean asked, watching Erika pull Sam to the nearest chair.

"Sit," she ordered. "I'm going to get my first aid kid."

"We were definitely wrong," Sam said, watching Erika walk quickly from the room only to return with a giant white box. She sat in front of Sam and opened the box, reaching around for the things she needed.

"The spirit is a woman," Sam clarified. "A really freaking mean one."

"Hell hath no fury," Erika added absently. Dean scoffed, running his fingers across his scalp in frustration.

"It should have been McAlister, damn it."

"Well, it isn't," Sam said, wincing when Erika ran a damp cloth over the small cut. It stung like fire, but he remained still. Whatever it was, he would much rather have it on his cheek than in his eye.

"Who is it, then?" Erika asked, applying salve along his face. The cut was about the length of her little finger, and she was relieved to notice he wouldn't need stitches.

"A woman," Sam said, shrugging. "Red hair and a chest wound."

"Weren't you with Burke?" Erika asked.

"Shit," Dean said, whirling around to face Sam. "You were. What the hell happened?"

Sam sighed and shifted in his seat, earning a glare from Erika that had him sitting still almost at once.

"He saw her," Sam said. "He was pretty freaked at first, but he was convinced that she was real so he had to walk us all over the school to find her. He saw the bullet hole and thought she needed help."

"Why didn't you get him the hell out of there?" Dean asked.

"What did you want me to say, Dean?" Sam fired back. "I doubt he would have been exactly thrilled to hear a ghost story right about then."

Dean frowned but said nothing.

"Anyway," Sam continued, "I found some salt in the kitchen of the teacher's lounge that I used when she decided to lock us in. She flung a butter knife at me."

"I'm guessing that's why I'm patching up your face," Erika observed.

"Yeah," Sam said. "As far as I'm concerned, I lucked out. It's not my lung."

"Good attitude," Erika said. "Did you get Burke out okay?

"Yeah," Sam said. "He knows I'm not some college kid writing a paper, though. He said he didn't require an explanation since I saved his ass."

Dean looked at him skeptically. "So he left it alone? Just like that?"

"Just like that," Sam said. "He said he didn't care who I was as long as I took care of it."

"Sounds about like Burke," Erika said. "He's not much on turf wars. He cares about people more." She looked at Dean. "He's a good man."

Dean wasn't feeling too charitable at the moment, but admitted that Burke Spinner couldn't be half bad if he was going to be willing to let him and Sam do their jobs. They sat in silence for a few moments, Dean watching Erika fuss over his brother. Sam couldn't seem to sit calmly, and Dean found himself chuckling when Erika would smack him to get him to keep still.

"Wait a second," Erika said, chewing the edge of her lip in thought. "Sam, what did she look like again?"

Sam shrugged. "Long red hair, blue eyes," he said. "I'd say early thirties or so. No older than forty."

"You said she had a chest wound?" she asked.

"Yeah, she did."

"I think I know who it is," she said, taking her hand away from Sam's face and turning to Dean. "You remember that article about the shooting?"

"Yeah," Dean said skeptically. "But it's not McAlister."

"That's not what I'm saying," Erika said hurriedly. "There were victims, Dean. Do you remember what they died of?"

Dean's face lit up. "A single shot to the chest."

"The woman is one of the victims," Erika said, feeling a little guilty for the excitement that had bubbled up her chest. "She must be."

"A teacher was killed with the students," Sam added, nodding. "She has to have been the teacher."

"Sam, what else do you remember?" Erika asked, digging around in the box on her lap. "Did you notice anything else?"

Sam started to shake his head, but then thought back. He wondered what effect his words would have on Erika, having heard her talk about them before.

"Yeah," Sam said gently. "She was trying to talk to me."

Erika tilted her head and looked up at him. "What do you mean?"

"She was saying something," he explained. "Screaming, really, but—uh—the words were muffled. Like she couldn't make the sounds correctly."

He watched as realization dawned on Erika face, followed quickly by sorrow. Sam would have given anything to take the look off her face, but Erika was stronger than either of the Winchester's gave her credit for. Her face toughened and quickly regained the color it had so quickly lost. When she faced him again, her eyes were tempered steel.

"She's trying to protect her students," she said, a degree of certainty in her voice.

Dean turned to her. "What makes you say that?"

"That's why McAlister killed her," she said, placing a bandage gently over the cut on Sam's face. "She was trying to talk to him and convince him to leave. Now she's back and trying to protect the students she couldn't save all those years ago."

"So she's picking people who can hear?" Dean questioned.

Erika nodded solemnly.

"It makes sense," Sam added. "A hearing person killed her and her students. Logic doesn't exactly travel well across the veil."

"She must have latched onto that fact rather than that fact that one man killed her, not an entire group of people," Dean agreed.

"All done," Erika told Sam, patting him on the knee as she pushed herself up. "Why now?"

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, pressing his fingers to the small bandage on his cheek.

"Why is she showing up now?" Erika clarified. "It's been decades since she was killed."

Dean shrugged. "It can be a lot of things. Renovations to a building, her grave being disturbed. Anything like that can wake up a spirit, put them on a warpath."

"So what are we doing now?" she sighed. "We have to salt and burn her bones?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "But before we get to that we have to figure out who the hell she is. The paper didn't give names to any of the victims."

"I guess you'll be at the library again tomorrow," she said.

"Sam will be," Dean said, earning a glare from Sam. "I'm staying at the house with you."

"I won't be home," she said. "I have to go back to work tomorrow. I have classes to teach."

Dean looked at her pointedly. "You're serious?"

"Yeah, I'm serious," she said, a deep furrow forming itself along her brow.

"You're not going back to that school until we've killed the damn thing," he said. "You said it yourself; you're the only hearing teacher."

"Shit," she said, the idea finally clicking in her brain.

"Yeah," Dean said, patronizing her a little. "That means she's going to be gunning for you tomorrow. You're not setting a foot in that place."

"I can't call in, Dean," she said. She defended herself quickly when she saw temper flare in his eyes. "I'm not trying to be difficult."

"You're managing just fine."

"Damn it, I can't just leave," she said. "There's too much I have to do. I have a new student who needs a lot of special attention. She's deaf and mute—without intense care she might not be able to communicate properly. On top of that she has a lot of emotional issues. She needs to be able to trust me, get to know me if I'm going to be able to help her."

"Let one of the other teachers take her for a few days," he said, refusing to see her logic. The only thing he knew was that she wasn't getting within a stone's throw of the damn place.

"That's not how it works," she insisted. "All of the teachers have their difficult cases. We're short-handed as it is without me shoving my class onto someone else."

"It's not happening, sweetheart," he said, tossing her his cell phone. "Call whoever you have to, but you're not leaving my sight until this is taken care of."

Erika looked at the phone in her hand and contemplated hurling it back at him. She wondered if a good shot right between the eyes would wake him the hell up. Sickly sweet manners in place, she smiled at him.

"I don't know if you've noticed this about me, _sweetheart_, but I'm no fool," she said, shoving the phone back into his hands. "I'm not purposefully endangering myself."

"Sure as hell looks like it to me," he said.

"Then you're blind," she spat. "First of all, I'm not going to be by myself tomorrow. Not once in the whole day am I ever alone. I'll even make sure that someone will be with me wherever I go." She continued when Dean said nothing. "Secondly, I'll be there during the day. Not once has someone been hurt during the day."

Dean nodded a bit, knowing that it was true.

"I can promise you that I'll be out the doors as soon as the bell rings, but I'm not going to desert my kids," she said firmly, leaving no room for argument.

"It's not enough," Dean said, turning to Sam for support. Sam said nothing, wanting no part of their argument.

"Then I'll wear a suit of armor," she said sarcastically.

"Hilarious," Dean said, showing no trace of humor anywhere on his face. "I'm going with you."

"Oh, like hell you are," she said incredulously. "If you come with me, you're going to be bringing your entire goddamn arsenal with you." She pointed a finger at his face. "You will not have a gun around my kids. Ever."

Dean scowled, feeling temper licking at him. He knew she would stare him down until she was blue in the face, and he also knew that wouldn't do anyone a damn bit of good. Never one to admit defeat in an argument, Dean sighed and looked back up at her.

"No weapons," he said, knowing before he said it that he would probably live to regret it. "I take you there, check on you at lunch, and pick you up. You get in the car when I tell you, no stalling or making excuses." He was mildly surprised when Erika didn't argue. "You check in every hour on the hour. You miss a check in, and I come in there and collect you myself."

He fixed her with a stare that reminded Erika sharply that Dean was more dangerous than she'd been giving him credit for.

"I will drag you, kicking and screaming, from that building if you're so much as a minute late," he said. "You got that?"

Holding her chin up, Erika nodded. Giving Dean no more than a defiant glare, she turned to Sam.

"Sam, there are leftovers in the refrigerator and I just made coffee," she said. "I'm going to bed. I'll see you in the morning."

Sam muttered his "goodnight" and the two watched her walk out of the room and up the stairs. Sam waited until he heard the soft sound of her door closing before turning to Dean.

"You seriously pissed her off, dude," he said from his chair.

He spared his brother a glance. "She'll live."

"She's tougher than you think, Dean," he said. "And she's not stupid. If she thought she was putting anyone in danger, I think she'd stay home."

"I'm not taking any chances," Dean said. "Get some rest. We've got a long day tomorrow."

Sam watched his brother climb the stairs, knowing that Dean wouldn't be sleeping any more than he would be.

**A/N: Good? Or does it suck out loud? Tell me by hitting the little button!**


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Author's Note:**

**Yay! Supernatural tonight! I hope you all still find time to read and review.**

**Chapter Thirteen**

Erika woke up in complete darkness. At first she thought she'd woken up several hours early, like she often did. A loud crash of thunder and the splatter of rain against the window, though, told her that she'd managed to be woken up by the thunderstorm that had blown through the night before. She closed her eyes for a few more seconds, grateful to have the sounds to keep her company.

As it turned out, the storm was less than comforting. The pit in her stomach reminded her that something was wrong, and it took a few seconds to remember what. The blue letters on her alarm clock told her that it was only five forty-five in the morning. She frowned and turned her face into the pillow, wishing that she could go back to sleep and pretend for a few more hours that nothing had happened. Instead, she pulled herself out of bed and headed for the shower.

For a moment, letting the scalding hot water pour over her, she wondered if it was a better idea to just call in and let them know she wasn't going to be in that day. They could probably scrounge up a substitute, but even that was doubtful because of the murders. She couldn't blame someone for wanting to stay the hell away for a while. She knew she wouldn't call in, anyway; mainly because of Maddy. The little girl needed a lot of attention, and she'd only had a few weeks to develop a rapport. It made her sad to think that a five-year-old could be just as distrusting as an adult. She was making progress, though. Maddy was talking to her a little more every day.

Erika towel-dried her hair and contemplated going downstairs to start breakfast. Certain the guys would still be asleep, she slipped on a robe and walked quietly from her bedroom. She would start breakfast, make coffee, and come up to change clothes before waking them up.

To her surprise, the kitchen wasn't empty. But she was right: The boys were still asleep. She found Sam passed out on the kitchen table, surrounded by books. He'd fallen asleep, face-first, into a notebook littered with a man's slanted writing. She smiled a little, trying to decide whether to wake him and send him up to bed or let him sleep some more. She couldn't imagine what sleeping like that would do to his back, though, so she reached out to shake his shoulder a bit. Sam only grunted.

"Sam," she said gently. "Sugar, you need to wake up."

"Hmm?"

"You fell asleep," she said, watching his hazel eyes flicker open and look at her with confusion. "You need to go on back up to bed. To a real bed."

Sam sat up and rubbed his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Not even six-thirty," she said. "Go on up to bed. I'll wake you guys in a little while. Our classes don't even start until nine."

He looked around and noticed that he'd left out all his books. He started closing them quickly and piling them up for him to take back to his room.

"I'm awake," he said absently. "Do I have any coffee left?"

Erika frowned, but nodded. "Yeah, sugar. You've been hitting it kind of hard lately. What's up?"

Sam shook his head. "Nothing. It just helps me wake up."

"One cup helps you wake up," she observed. "After that it's something else."

"I like it," Sam said, wondering why she was pressing the issue.

"I'm sure you do," she said. "I think you have a caffeine addiction."

At this, Sam laughed out loud to think that Erika had an intervention in mind.

"I'm serious," she said. "I love coffee just as much as the next girl, but I don't suck it down the same way you do. Do you not like sleeping?"

Sam smiled. "Sure, sleep's fine."

"Then why don't you try it?" she suggested seriously. "I mean it. Go on upstairs, and go back to bed. You'll get more coffee after you get another hour's sleep."

"What?" Sam asked incredulously. "You're blackmailing me for coffee?"

"It wouldn't be an issue if you didn't have an addiction," she noted. "Go to sleep. I'll go get you in an hour."

"It's too late now," he said. "I'm awake."

"Try anyway," she said, walking into the pantry. "Just close your eyes and you'll be asleep before you know it."

Sam laughed. "That may work for kids, but I'm not one."

"True enough," Erika said. "If you're going to be awake, you can help me with breakfast."

"What are we making?" Sam said, towering over her as they stood at the kitchen counter.

"Chocolate chip muffins, I think," she said, scanning the ingredients she'd set in front of her. "It feels like a chocolate chip muffin kind of day."

"Okay," Sam said, eyeing the coffee pot and wondering if she would slap his hand away if he grabbed for it. "What do you want me to do?"

"Grease the pan," she said, handing him two muffin pans and a tub of Crisco. "You know how to do that, right?"

"Theoretically," he said, taking them from her.

"What are you studying so hard for?" she asked, pouring the dry ingredients into a mixing bowl.

Sam turned to her. "What?"

"All the books," she said, nodding her head in the direction of the table where Sam had fallen asleep. "You must be studying for something. I don't remember falling asleep in a book since college."

Sam smiled a little, remembering the experience himself.

"Just a little research," he said, omitting the more relevant parts of the truth. "You can never have too much information in this job."

"That I get," she said. "Well, you finish that up. I'm going to go upstairs and change for work. I wasn't planning on having company this morning."

"Okay," Sam said. "I'll be down here, I guess."

"When you get through with that, preheat the oven to 350 degrees," she instructed. "After that, leave it alone. I'll be back down to finish."

"Yes ma'am," Sam said, nodding.

"If I'm not done in thirty minutes, go wake your brother," she said. "If he wants time to eat before we go he'll need to wake up soon."

Sam nodded and Erika turned away.

"Don't burn down my kitchen," she said, walking out the swinging door. She heard Sam laugh, and quickly after that, the rattle of the coffee pot coming off the burner. She sighed and shook her head, knowing he hadn't paid attention to a word she'd said.

--

Erika dragged them out of the house at eight o'clock on the dot, umbrella in one hand and all the work she hadn't finished that weekend in the other. Lightning flashed in the sky and thunder rolled, leaving her feeling almost relieved. It was like nature was relieving its tension when she couldn't. Nerves bundled up throughout her body and she could feel the beginnings of a stress headache behind her eyes. Rain left the earth smelling fresh, though, and she drank the air in.

She followed Dean dutifully out to the Impala, where she let Sam ride shotgun and took her seat in the back. Staring out the window, she was able to tune out most of the conversation Dean and Sam shared on the ride into Coleman. When they pulled into the parking lot of the almost deserted school, Dean turned to face her.

"What's your cell number?" he asked and programmed it into his phone when she recited it to him. "Okay, check in every hour on the hour. I'll come back at noon to check on you."

Erika nodded and collected her things. "Are you going to be at the library?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "We're going to see if we missed anything before. Maybe we can find her name, where she's buried."

"Okay. Let me know what you find," she said, opening the door. "I'll see you both later."

"Be careful," Dean called as she started to walk away. She turned to smile at him and walked into the school.

They waited until she disappeared behind the door before driving slowly out of the parking lot. Dean beat his thumbs nervously on the steering wheel in time with the music coming from the radio and Sam looked out the window and into the pouring rain.

"She'll be fine," Sam said reassuringly.

"Yeah."

Back in the library, Sam and Dean headed straight for the small room they'd occupied a few days before. This time, instead of planning to go through every paper individually, they knew exactly what box they wanted. Dean found the article they'd used before only to find that no victims were listed. The obituaries were likewise void of any mention of the event.

He read an article dated a few days after the shooting, outlining a memorial for the victims; once again, no names were mentioned. A week after that, it ran a front-page story on McAlister's execution. Nothing else was brought up until a year to the date of the shooting, once again in memory.

"Maybe they were respecting the victims' families," Sam offered. "If everyone knew they'd passed away, the papers wouldn't deem it necessary to run an obituary."

"Which doesn't help us a freaking bit," Dean said, aggravated.

"Not really," Sam admitted. "We could try the cemetery records. There would have been six burials right around the same time."

"Yeah, it's worth a shot," Dean said. "But you're going to have to check that out without me. I'm going to run over to the school and keep an eye on Erika."

"Why?" Sam asked. "She's been checking in like you wanted."

"Precaution," he said. "I'm taking the car. I'll be back."

"Okay," Sam said, sighing over all the paperwork he was going to have to go through. "Take your time."

--

At eleven-thirty, Erika released her students to the sanctuary of recess. For half an hour they would play, probably in the gym that day because of the rain, and then they would have another hour for their lunch.

One little girl remained in her desk, and she didn't look pleased to be there. Erika smiled kindly at Maddy, who only glared back at her through chocolate-brown eyes and stick-straight bangs the color of mahogany. Erika made sure to sign slowly, giving the little girl a chance to catch up and understand.

_Are you ready for your lesson? _Erika signed.

A quick movement of small fingers said very clearly, _No._

_We need to learn, Maddy, _Erika signed, her face firm but kind.

_I don't want to._

_Come on, _Erika pleaded. _You can sit on my desk and we'll draw pictures. Would you like that?_

Maddy eyed her suspiciously. _You mean it?_

_Yes, _Erika replied, hoping she'd found her way in. She'd been searching for weeks for ways to get the little girl to really open up to her. Most of the time, Maddy put her hands over her eyes and refused to open them until everyone else in the class came back in. Deaf children ignored their teachers a lot easier; all they had to do was cover their eyes.

_Okay, _Maddy signed and climbed clumsily out of her desk. She walked slowly up to the front of the class and took Erika's hand. Erika led her up to the chalkboard, where she picked Maddy up to sit on a stool facing the board. Maddy took a piece of chalk and started drawing, paying no attention to her teacher.

Before long, the shape of a flower began to take form. Maddy frowned in concentration, and Erika was amazed to discover that the little girl could draw better at five years old than Erika could her whole life.

_It's beautiful, _Erika signed and Maddy smiled for the first time that day. _Do you know how to sign it?_

Maddy seemed to think about the question, unaware that Erika was sneakily teaching her. She finally made a tentative motion with her hands. It was close, but no cigar. Erika wrote out "flower" on the board in chalk. Maddy stared at it and looked back to Erika questioningly. Erika signed it correctly, and then pointed at the board.

"Flower," Erika said aloud, exaggerating the movement of her lips so that Maddy could see and understand. She had a suspicion that the little girl could lip read, but hadn't found any proof. Maddy frowned in concentration and repeated Erika's signing. She did it correctly on the first try and Erika nodded enthusiastically, earning a heart-stopping smile from the little girl.

_Good! _Erika exclaimed with her hands. She felt a breakthrough on the horizon, and her heart leapt in her chest. _What else can you draw?_

_Lots, _the little girl replied with a smile. Erika couldn't wait to see.

Thirty minutes passed in the same fashion, with Maddy drawing pictures on the chalkboard and Erika supplying the pictures with a sign, a spelling, and the example of the word as it would look to a lip reader. Maddy picked up the rhythm quickly, imitating Erika's gestures almost exactly with her considerably smaller hands.

Erika jumped when Dean knocked on the door and she signed at Maddy to keep drawing while she walked across the room to let him in. She was halfway through an elaborate drawing of a house when her teacher left her side.

"Dean," Erika said breathlessly as she opened the door. "Is it noon already?"

"Yeah," he said. "I'm guessing your day's moving pretty fast."

"Yeah, it is," she said, smiling. "Come in, I was just about to walk Maddy out to lunch."

He followed her into the classroom and looked at the tiny girl sitting in front of the chalkboard, drawing. She frowned in heavy concentration and Dean thought she could have been painting the Sistine Chapel. When she finally noticed that someone other than Erika was in the room, she stopped drawing and faced Dean with eyes he could have swore were looking right through him. He smiled at her unsurely.

"Dean, this is Maddy," she said to him. She turned to sign at Maddy.

_Maddy, this is Dean._

Maddy looked him over before lifting her hand to awkwardly fingerspell, _Hello._

"She says 'hello'," Erika translated to Dean, who had looked clueless.

Maddy turned almost instantly back to her drawing, erasing the house she'd been working on in a few quick strokes of the eraser. She drew hurriedly and Dean watched, interested by the earnest little girl. A face started taking shape, followed by a neck and a body. She drew a necklace on the body with a small charm at the end of it, devoid of the details children couldn't exactly replicate. Maddy faced Erika and pointed in Dean's direction.

_Dean?_

Erika smiled uncontrollably before nodding.

"What did she say?" Dean asked.

"She drew a picture of you," Erika said almost giddily. "She was making sure she knew your name."

Erika wrote Dean's name out in plain letters beside her picture and finger spelled it again, watching Maddy follow her lead. Dean smiled at the girl before pointing to the drawing on the board.

"Me?" he asked her, pointing a finger at himself. Maddy nodded slowly, watching him for a reaction. He smiled and looked to Erika. "How do I tell her I like it?"

Erika demonstrated the simple phrase and Dean imitated it, earning smiles from both of the girls. Maddy energetically signed something and went back to drawing, adding more and more details to her depiction of Dean.

"What was that?" Dean asked, watching her add hair and the buttons of his jacket.

"She said thank you," Erika explained. "I hate to interrupt her, but she needs to go eat. All the other kids are at lunch."

Erika tapped her on the shoulder and Maddy looked over, nodding when Erika told her that it was time for her to go to lunch. Maddy replaced the chalk on the tray and wiped her dusty hands on her pants. She lifted her arms to be picked up and off the stool, and Erika's heart swelled when Dean put his hands under her arms and twirled her in a circle before putting her on the floor. Maddy giggled and Erika had to fight her own laughter.

"She likes you a lot," Erika said. "I don't think I've seen her as much as smile before today."

"Maybe she just didn't like you," Dean offered playfully.

"Gee, thanks," she said sarcastically before allowing herself to smile. "I never pegged you for someone who liked kids."

Dean thought of Ben, wondered for a moment what he was doing.

"They have their moments," he said, shrugging. He looked down at Maddy, who was staring at him intently. She offered him her hand and he took it, marveled by how small it felt in his own.

Erika laughed, feeling her heart stutter in her chest.

"I think she wants you to take her to lunch," Erika explained. She took Maddy's other hand in her own when the little girl held it up to her. "Come on, we'll all go."

Hand in hand, they walked out of the classroom and started down the hallway. Erika and Dean talked over Maddy's head.

"Did you find anything yet?" she asked.

"Not a damn thing," Dean said, feeling a little silly holding hands with a little kid as he walked. "Apparently it was rude to mention the names of the victims in the paper. Sam was going to check burial records while I left to come over here." He stopped at the front of the lunchroom, looking through the window at the kids lined up at the tables in front of their lunches. He remembered a similar scene from the millions of different schools he attended growing up.

"Do you think he'll find it?" Erika asked.

"I hope so," Dean said and waved at Maddy as she let go of his hand to run into the lunch room. Erika stopped to talk to a woman at the corner of the room. Dean watched her hands move around furiously, and wondered absently how she could remember all those gestures on top of English.

"Okay, Anna's going to bring Maddy and the rest of the class back to my classroom when lunch is over," she said, walking with him back down the hallway.

"I can see why you do this," Dean said, looking over at Erika as she walked beside him.

"Do what?"

"Teach," he said. "It was really something just then, watching her learn. You know, start to understand something."

"Yeah," Erika said, smiling. "It is. I love it."

"I couldn't do it, you know," he said, laughing. "But it was cool to watch."

"I'm glad you think so," she said. "Lunch is over at one; we've got just under an hour."

"For what?" Dean asked.

"I don't know," Erika said. "I thought I would go back to the library and help you guys out."

"I could call Sam, but I bet he's got it pretty well covered," he said. "I just wanted to come and see if you were okay. I'll probably head back and see what else we can come up with."

"Oh, okay," she said, walking back into her classroom. "I feel like I owe you an apology."

Dean followed her in and closed the door behind him.

"What for?"

"I was a bitch last night," she said. "And I'm sorry."

Dean shook his head. "Don't worry about it," he said. "I wasn't exactly being cooperative."

She gave him a small smile and offered her hand. "Friends?"

He stared at her hand, but took it slowly--as though he were afraid to touch her. His skin was rough over hers and for a split second she let herself enjoy the sensation. God only knew how many more chances she would have.

"Friends," Dean said slowly but eyed her carefully, as though daring her to make her move. He had a million questions running back and forth in his eyes, but he left them untouched because he knew better than to pour salt over an open wound. Rather than stand there, staring, he put his hands in his pockets and said his goodbye.

--

Dean walked back in the library an hour later, whistling the chorus of a ZZ Top song. He smiled at the librarian, who looked at him like he'd lost his mind. He was soaking wet. He wandered to the back of the building and found Sam waist-deep in paperwork. Sam turned to give Dean a half-hearted smile before turning back to his work.

"It's a wonder we don't go blind working through all this crap," Sam muttered

"You'll get there eventually," Dean said, and Sam didn't miss the fact he'd left himself out of the picture. "What have you found?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

"Okay, listen to this," Sam said, pulling a sheet of paper from the bottom of the stack. "I found burial records for five people, all just days after the shooting."

"Just five?" Dean repeated.

"Yeah," Sam said. "And according to the burial records, the oldest of the five people buried there was seventeen."

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered. "Our teacher's not buried there."

"Doesn't look like it."

"Son of a bitch," he repeated. "Then how the hell are we supposed to find her?"

"Give me a second," Sam said, digging through a separate pile of papers. "I did manage to find her name."

"Hell, that's something," Dean said, leaning forward on the table. "Who is she?"

"Virginia Kelley," Sam read from the paper in his hands. "32 years old at time of death. Red hair and blue eyes; she died of a single gunshot that perforated her left lung."

"Nice work, Sammy," Dean said, scanning his eyes over the page he'd taken from his brother. "How'd you get that from burial records?"

"I didn't," Sam explained, reaching for another piece of paper he'd marked with a post-it note. "I found the coroner's report. It's public record now."

"Sweet," Dean said, taking the paper. "It says her body was released to Rolling Meadows Funeral Home. Why wasn't she buried?"

"I'm guessing she was cremated," Sam said. "Which, you know, for our purposes doesn't help us any."

"Or she could be buried and just not in that cemetery," Dean said. "They might have released her body to her family to be buried somewhere else."

Sam nodded his head in agreement. "It's possible."

"Looks like we're going to add some breaking and entering to the schedule for tonight," Dean said, slapping Sam on the back. "Write down the address for Rolling whatever-it-was and we'll check it out tonight. Maybe we'll luck out and they'll still have the records."

"It's worth a shot, at least," Sam agreed.

**Please review! **

**--Alyssa**

**A/N: And yes, for all of you who are wondering… I made some updates in this chapter. Some things weren't lining up and I had to fix them.**


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Author's Note:**

**I'm sooo sorry it took me this long to update. I've been traveling a lot and things get mixed up in my brain. Lol Sorry for the wait!**

**Oh, and chapter thirteen has been edited. I needed to change some things up a bit. **

**Chapter Fourteen**

"You're going to _what_?" Erika asked, putting away what was left over from that night's dinner.

"We have to break into the funeral home," Dean said again. "If we want to find out where this chick is buried, we have to."

Erika shook her head in disbelief. "I don't even know why that surprises me. I've already helped you dig up a damn body."

Dean laughed. "You'll get used to it."

"I'd better not," she said, waving him off. "Go on, get out of here. You and Sam go add some more to your rap sheets." She laughed and listened to his footsteps trail out of the kitchen.

"Don't get caught!" she called out to them and took the flickering lights above her head to mean they'd already headed out the door. She muttered under her breath, "I'd hate having to explain that to Burke."

--

Dean stomped mud off his boots as he jiggled the handle to the back door of the funeral home. He listened to the tumblers click into place and chuckled in satisfaction, having picked the lock in just under a minute.

"You know," Sam whispered as they walked in the back door, "Burke said that the locks at the school were picked by an amateur."

Dean whirled around. "What?"

Sam barely suppressed a laugh. "Yep."

He gave Sam an indignant glare. "Like he would know."

Sam laughed and followed Dean through the back of the funeral home, the bright beams of their flashlights showing them the way. They found a maze of small parlors and show rooms, none of them giving a hint that they could be hiding old records. Dean walked into one of the showrooms to find caskets spread around the room, some open and others closed.

"Dude," he commented. "That's creepy, even for us."

He closed the door quickly and walked on.

When they had come almost full circle around the building they came across two heavy wooden doors, both marked "records."

"Jackpot," Dean said, fishing his lock pick out of the pocket he'd shoved it in outside. He unlocked both doors. "You take right, I'll go left."

Sam nodded and they split up. Dean put his flashlight in his mouth and held it there while he leafed through the drawer at the top of the file box. Dismayed by the recent years on the paperwork, he tried the next drawer. The next three after that all had ascending dates, making him curse.

"Sam!" he yelled. "Any luck over there?"

"Not yet," he replied. "You?"

"Nothing," Dean said, slamming the last drawer shut.

An hour later, they had gone through every document in both rooms. Though the deaths were admittedly few, the earliest date that either of them had found was just after the shooting, in 1935. They locked the office doors behind them, wiping their fingerprints off the door if, for any reason, they hadn't been careful enough covering their tracks.

"Let's get out of here," Dean said angrily. "I guess we're back at the frigging library tomorrow."

"Dean, wait," Sam said, stopping in front of a door a little further than the two they'd gone earlier. Dean walked back to him and read the door marked "Storage". He shrugged.

"It's worth a shot," he said and picked the lock. "I wonder if this is where they keep all the bodies before they put them out on display."

"Dude," Sam said, amazed. "You're sick."

"What?" Dean asked defensively. "It could be."

Sam rolled his eyes and walked in, half expecting to see a morgue layout and cold storage. Finding neither, he walked around looking for something that could be suitable for record storage. Near the back of the room, Sam found dilapidated old boxes with a series of numbers on them. He took the lid off the top of them and found older versions of the records he'd been looking through earlier.

"Dean, I found it," he said, pulling out the record with their spirit's name at the top.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, get over here," Sam said while he read the document. "She was cremated after all."

"Damn it," Dean said. "What else does it say?"

"I don't think it was released to her family," Sam said. "'Not applicable' is in the space for next of kin."

"Then who was she released to?" Dean asked. "If it was the county's responsibility she would have been in a pine box six feet under."

"It says here the remains were released to a David E. Chamberlain, who opted against a formal service for Ms. Kelley."

"Who the hell is David E. Chamberlain?" Dean asked. "Fiancée, maybe?"

"I don't think so," Sam replied. "There wasn't any marriage certificate for her on record. It said on the coroner's report that she was single."

"Then who is he and why would he claim her remains but not give her a service?" Dean laughed raucously. "Maybe he decided to pull a Keith Richards and do a few lines."

Sam stared at him with abject horror. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Keith Richards?" he prompted. "You know, lead guitarist of the Rolling Stones?"

Sam stared blankly.

Dean sighed. "How am I related to you, exactly?"

"No idea," Sam said. "But we'll find out who Chamberlain is tomorrow. Maybe they were lovers. He might have kept something of hers we can burn to get her out of the school."

"We can only hope," Dean commented. "Alright, let's get out of here. I'm cold, I'm wet, and I'm tired."

"Yeah, okay," Sam said, putting the file back in its place.

--

They pulled in front of the house just in time to catch a fresh wave from the storm that had seemed to rest for the last few hours. They were practically blown in the front door by the wind and looked around to notice a house completely at rest. The porch light had been left on for them, but the rest of the house was dark and seemingly deserted. It creaked under the force of the wind, but remained otherwise silent.

"Erika must have called it a night," Sam said, shrugging off his jacket.

"Yeah, must have," he said. "Listen, you go ahead and get to bed, and I'll run up and check on her."

Sam eyed him knowingly but nodded, grinning. "Okay, sure."

"What?"

"Nothing," Sam said, shaking his head. "I guess I'll see you in the morning."

"Yeah," Dean said, watching him work his way back to the kitchen.

It was just after eleven when Dean climbed the stairs to Erika's wing of the house. The hallway was darkened almost completely, the window at the end of the hallway offering no light in the midst of the thunderstorm. Dean walked to the end of the hallway and came to face Erika's bedroom door. He didn't knock, but pushed the door quietly open.

He expected to see Erika in bed, but instead saw an empty room and an open balcony door. He crossed the room and saw that the enclosure beyond the doors was empty. He closed the doors behind him, blocking what little rain hadn't already spilled on the hardwood floor. He saw that the bathroom was dark and he walked quickly back out into the hall, finding nothing but darkness and closed doors. A light under the door of another room down the hall caught his attention and he sought it out, throwing the door open with a crash that echoed menacingly down the empty corridor.

Before he'd realized it, he managed to scare Erika half to death. She jumped at her desk, pushing her chair away from it. A small cry escaped her and she dropped her pen, looking up at Dean with frantic eyes.

"What the hell are you doing?" she swore, catching her breath. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Sorry," Dean said, clearing his throat. "I couldn't find you."

He turned in circles, looking around to disguise the fact that he'd been worried. He noticed the books lining the walls up to the top of the ceiling and raised his eyebrows.

"I didn't realize you had an entire library."

"They've been in my family for generations," she said, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"Nice," Dean said, looking back at her. She'd changed into a robe and had braided her hair away from her face. Perched on her nose was a pair of black plastic reading glasses that made Dean smile.

"I didn't know you wore glasses," he said, fighting the smirk that was threatening to turn up the corners of his mouth.

"I do when my contacts bother me," she said, eyeing him warily. "What? What's that look about?"

"What look?" he asked, standing front and center on the other side of the large wooden desk.

"I'm not sure," she said, watching him circle around the desk to stand beside her. "But I think I'm being objectified."

Dean laughed. "You're not far off," he admitted, taking the pen from her hand.

"How did yours and Sam's little field trip go?" she asked.

Dean exhaled noisily. "Super," he said, sitting on the edge of the desk next to her. "Found out that she was cremated."

Erika turned to him and pushed her glasses up with her finger. "Then how are you going to salt and burn the bones?"

"We can't," he said. "Usually if a body's been cremated, they've left something behind of theirs strong enough to keep them here. We just have to find out what that is, and then salt and burn it."

"What is it with you guys and salt?" she asked, earning a laugh from Dean.

"It's a spirit deterrent," he explained simply. "Anyway, her remains were claimed by some guy we've never heard of."

"Hmm," Erika said. "Family?"

"We don't think so," he said. "There was no one listed as next of kin on any of the papers we found of hers."

"Then who was he if he's not family?" she asked, turning back to her papers. She marked another red "X" and corrected the student's answer.

"Some guy named David Chamberlain," he said and looked down when Erika's head popped up.

"What was that name?" she asked quickly.

"David Chamberlain," Dean repeated. "You know him?"

"He was the first principal of St. Theresa's," she said slowly, working through the new fact in her mind. "He helped found the place."

"Seriously?" Dean asked. "A principal?"

"Yeah," Erika answered quickly. "It must be the same guy. They would have worked together."

"Why would he claim her remains?" Dean asked.

"Well, if she didn't have any family he would have felt obligated," Erika said hurriedly, the excitement of discovery coursing through her. "She died trying to protect her students. Of course he would have made sure someone was there for her after her death."

"Makes sense," he agreed. "But it doesn't really tell us how to get rid of her."

"True," she said, turning her attention back to the stack of papers on the desk. "But that was my stroke of genius. Don't expect anything else for the rest of the night."

Dean smirked, feeling a little more like himself than he had in a few days as he leaned forward to take in the perfume he'd smelled behind her ear.

"Anything?"

Ignoring the feigned exasperated eye roll aimed in his direction, Dean's eyes flicked to the movement of her hand across paper and caught a familiar name at the top of the paper she was grading, written in the big, lopsided handwriting of a child.

Madeline McAlister.

"Is that Maddy's homework?" Dean asked, taking a serious look at it.

"Yeah," she said, letting him take it from her to study. "Why?"

"You didn't notice the name?"

"Yeah, actually, I did," she said. "It's a strange kind of coincidence, huh? It must be a more popular name than I thought."

"Or not," he replied solemnly. "Didn't you say Maddy was a new student?"

"Yeah, sugar," she said, the fine lines around her brow sharpening into a frown. "Why does that matter?"

"How long has she been here?"

"It'll be a month next week, I think," Erika said. "What does Maddy have to do with any of this?"

Dean took the time to study the paper, working through his theory in his head. He finally nodded, convinced of its plausibility.

"Don't you see it?" he asked earnestly. "Maddy shows up a month ago, one week before the first death. Her last name is McAlister, like the guy who shot the place up and killed those people."

Erika shook her head. "Maddy's not doing this. There's no way," she said sternly. She held Maddy's homework in front of Dean's face. "She can barely write her name, for God's sake."

"I'm not saying she's _doing _anything," Dean said. "What if she's the reason Virginia Kelley came back in the first place?"

Erika scowled. "I'm not following."

"Maddy could be the great-great-granddaughter or something of Michael McAlister," Dean explained. "Maddy coming into the school could have disturbed Virginia Kelley's spirit, making her think that Michael was back for round two."

"So she really was protecting her students," Erika said, catching onto his reasoning. "She thinks that because she can feel Michael in the building, then he must be a hearing person." She paused. "I bet that's why she's been knocking things over in all the classrooms."

"She was testing them," Dean said. "If they reacted to the noise, she would know they could hear and gank 'em."

"Oh my God," Erika said. "That means she's after Maddy."

Dean's expression sobered. "She'll figure it out eventually," he agreed. "And by that time she might not care that Maddy's deaf, or that she's a kid."

"Jesus. We have to do something," she pleaded. "We can't let her hurt Maddy. She's just a baby."

"Call Maddy's parents," he said. "Wake them up. Make something up and tell them that they've decided to cancel school tomorrow."

Erika shook her head. "Maddy doesn't have parents for me to call," she said. "She's a ward of the state."

"You don't have a number for her foster parents?" Dean asked and Erika shook her head again.

"I don't even know their names," she scoffed. "What are we going to do?"

"See if you can't reach her foster parents tomorrow morning," he said. "Do whatever you can to keep her out of that school. Just long enough to find whatever's left of this Kelley woman and destroy it."

"Is that going to be enough?" she asked, thinly veiling her fear for the small girl who was just beginning to open up to her.

Dean pressed his lips together and nodded.

"I hope so."


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Author's Note:**

**Thank you to those of you who review! The e-mail alerts make my day.**

**Chapter Fifteen**

Dean watched Erika make her fifth phone call of the morning, once again reaching the answering machine of Maddy's foster family. He heard the dull voices from over the line and listened to Erika leave yet another message letting them know that they needed to call her immediately. She repeated her number for the fifth time that day before hanging up with a resigned look on her face.

Erika closed her cell phone and sighed, wanting nothing more than to throw the device against a wall and pretend it was Maddy's foster parents.

"No luck?" he asked lamely, already knowing the answer.

"No," Erika said. "They must have left the house already. They have other foster children who go to different schools."

"Don't they have cell phones?"

"Not with numbers that they were willing to give the school," Erika said bitterly. "They must not want us to be able to get a hold of them."

"What kind of parents does she have?" Dean asked.

"Apathetic ones," Erika answered. "Maddy has a lot of special needs and if I remember my meeting with her social worker correctly, they had to beg the family to take her. They didn't want a child who required more attention than the others."

"Then why the hell would they send Maddy to live with them?"

"They were the only foster parents who lived close enough to the school to be able to take her."

"Assholes," Dean commented. "What happened to Maddy's real family?"

"The mother died. Some kind of accident," she said. "The father couldn't be bothered to raise a child on his own."

Dean frowned. "Maddy hasn't had the best of luck as far as families go," he said.

"It happens too often," Erika said wearily. "We need to get going pretty soon. Maybe I can catch them before they drop her off."

"Yeah, okay," Dean agreed. "It's worth a shot. Sam! Let's go!"

"I can take my car today," Erika offered. "If you guys are able to figure out what David did with her remains, you'll need the Impala. That way you won't have to worry about coming to get me."

Dean thought about it, and determined that she had a point.

"Get going, then," he said. "Call me when you find Maddy."

"Maybe I'll be able to convince the foster parents to take her back with them," she said. "But what if that doesn't work?"

"Don't let her out of your sight," Dean said simply. "Check in every hour, and make sure that Maddy's safely in the car and on the way home before you leave. Then get the hell out."

"Okay," she said. "I'm going to take off, then. Keep me in the loop."

"Ditto," Dean said and watched her walk out the front door and into the storm raging outside.

--

Erika pulled in the parking lot and reached for her umbrella in the back seat. She was on yard duty that morning, and wasn't looking forward to it. It gave her some comfort to think that because of the storm, they might have moved all of the kids into the gym rather than letting them play in the rain and mud. The wind was almost enough to blow some of them right off their feet, and Erika braced herself against it as she walked to the doors of the building.

She shook the rain off her umbrella as she closed the door behind her, brushing the stray raindrops away from her face. Her modest heels clicked as she walked down the hall, in search of the other teacher on duty that morning. She passed the office and spared a moment to think of Shelley. Her funeral was later that week, and Erika hoped that hers would be the last she would attend for a long while.

She found no teacher in the hallways, and knew that meant that everyone had been ushered into the small gym to the side of the main building. Taking the time to drop off her purse and briefcase in her office before locking it behind her, she headed in the direction of the gym. As she passed the front doors of the building, she saw a man standing on the porch with a pathetic little umbrella. She smiled, knowing Mr. Wiles wouldn't throw away that umbrella to save his soul. She stepped just outside and tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention.

_Aren't you cold? _she asked. _It's raining very hard._

_I'm fine, _he replied. _Go inside. I'll be there soon._

_Are you sure?_

_Yes, _he said, nodding. He gestured for her to get in out of the rain.

_Could you tell Madeline McAlister's parents to wait for me in my classroom when they get here? _she asked, grateful she'd thought of it. _I have some things I need to discuss with them. _

_She's already been left, _Mr. Wiles signed. _About fifteen minutes ago._

_This early? _Erika asked, dismayed.

_They must have been in a hurry, _he replied. Erika signed her thanks and stepped back into the warm hallway, prepared to rush into the gym to find Maddy.

She did find her, within moments of walking in the gym doors. Maddy was playing an awkward game of catch with another girl from her class. Erika watched Maddy miss the ball and run after it, giggling. The image brought a smile to Erika's face, happy to see her beginning to fit in with the other children. Maddy saw her teacher enter the room and smiled brightly, waving her hand in greeting. Erika waved back and watched her run back to her friend.

There were few other children in the gym at this time—it was still another forty-five minutes before class started—so it was easy for Erika to keep her eye on the little girl consistently. She played happily, signing slowly whenever she needed to say something. It killed Erika to think that someone would want to hurt her.

She said a silent prayer that Sam and Dean were finding what they were looking for.

--

They weren't.

Sam had dug through every document he could find that had David E. Chamberlain's name on it, finding nothing that could so much as point them in the right direction. He'd led a perfectly normal life; wife, two kids, and a white picket fence. He was one of the founders of St. Theresa's School for the Deaf, and he later became the principal. He dedicated his life to ensuring that even the families that couldn't afford to send their children to the school received scholarships and could learn.

Sam thought he was a good man, and a dedicated one. They'd named a wing of the school after him. There was nothing to suggest that he would have had an affair with a teacher and kept her remains with him after her murder. Sam wished they would keep that kind of thing on file.

Dean told him on the drive over what he and Erika had figured out the night before in her library. Sam had listened intently, convinced almost at once that his brother was right. He just hoped that they could find what they needed before the little girl could be hurt. As soon as they walked in the library, Sam set to work on finding out everything he could about the man who'd taken Virginia Kelley's ashes.

While Sam looked up Chamberlain, Dean had fought his way through the McAlister family tree. He found birth and death certificates for Michael McAlister's wife and, later, his son. The son had no brothers or sisters, but married at twenty-five to settle down and raise two sons of his own. The older of the two went on to college and married, but died in a car accident before they had any children. His widow was somewhere in Montana.

The second son married a deaf woman later in life and, in the midst of a midlife crisis, left his wife and young son behind. A missing person's report was filed, but not followed through. Evidence suggested McAlister had left on his own accord. There was no record of his existence after that. Dean figured he was on a beach somewhere.

The son grew up to drop out of college his freshman year, barely into a degree in engineering. He married quickly after; leading Dean to believe a shotgun had been involved. Madeline Grace McAlister was born September 2, 2002, a few months after her parents' marriage.

Not long after that, Madeline's mother was killed in a plane crash. Only days after the mother's funeral, two-year-old Madeline was entered into the foster system. The father hasn't been heard from since.

Dean rubbed the bridge of his nose, fighting away the headache that was building steadily behind his eyes. The McAlister's family history was riddled with tragedy and bad luck, and Maddy was only proof of that. She'd been shoved out into the world by the one man who was supposed to do everything in his power to keep her safe. Dean made a mental note to hunt the bastard down and kick the shit out of him.

"Anything over there?" Sam called to where Dean was sitting at the computer.

"At least we know Maddy really is Michael McAlister's granddaughter," he said. "She's had it rough for someone so young. How about you?"

"David Chamberlain was a model citizen," Sam sighed. "All he was missing was the Father of the Year award."

"Okay, we know he was this Kelley woman's boss," Dean said. "We know she didn't have any family, or at least that she let on about, and we know that he claimed her remains after her death."

"But we don't know why he did it, or where he put them."

"I think it's safe to assume he claimed them out of respect," Dean speculated. "Maybe he didn't want her to have some lame county burial."

"Okay, then why didn't he have a service for her?" Sam said. "If he wanted her to have more respect, wouldn't he have had some kind of service in her memory?" He paused. "Wasn't there some kind of memorial at the school a few days after the shooting?"

"Yeah," Dean said tentatively, calling the article to his mind. "Yeah, I think there was. You think maybe that was her service?"

"It's possible," Sam said, watching Dean pull his phone out of his jacket pocket. It was almost eleven, and Sam figured it was Erika checking in.

Sam continued talking, oblivious to the distressed look on Dean's face. "Even if that's true, what the hell did he do with her ashes?"

"We'll have to find out later," Dean said, pushing himself out of his chair and grabbing his keys from the table. "That was Erika. The school just blacked out."

--

Erika's class was practically asleep on their feet by the time ten o'clock rolled around. They'd all worn themselves out first thing that morning by playing in the gym, and now they were in a warm classroom watching her write vocabulary words on a chalkboard. She knew only about half of them were paying attention, and that half was hanging on by a thread. If she went on much longer without some kind of break, they would all be asleep before it was even time for recess.

_I have an idea, _Erika signed, watching a few heads pick up and pay a little more attention to what she had to say. _When I tell you, everyone go get their favorite toy from their cubby holes. _

Snaggle-toothed grins broke out around the room and Erika quickly added, _Wait until I tell you. When you all have your toys, we'll take turns bringing them to the front of the class. We'll write the name of the toy on the board and finger spell it together. Okay?_

Heads nodded simultaneously and she released them to find their choice of toys. Suddenly worried about altercations over toys, she wandered around the room to remind them that an authority figure was present and watching. Most of them behaved themselves, or were diverse enough as a group to have picked different toys as their favorite. Within ten minutes of letting them out of their seats, the children had returned to them and looked at Erika with eager faces. Maddy was holding color pencils close against her chest, apparently afraid that someone would try to steal them.

She erased every other vocabulary word she'd written previously and brushed her hands free of the chalk dust. She was about to call up the first student when a bolt of lightning lit up the sky, drawing whimpers and small screams from the children in front of her. Thunder boomed above them, and plunged the classroom into complete darkness. She reached for the flashlight she kept in her desk drawer and found it, turning it on. The small beam did little to illuminate the rest of the classroom but she used it to find the other flashlights and candles she kept hidden around the room.

She sat the flashlight on the desk so the beam could spotlight her hands while she told the class not to be scared. She stood up several other flashlights around the classroom, giving the room a dim but usable light. Instructing the students to stay in their desks, she walked into the hall to see the other teachers congregating at the end of the hall. In the glare of flashlights she saw hands signing at light speed, trying to figure out what to do.

_We can't teach in the dark, _Erika watched Mr. Wiles sign. _What happened to the generators?_

_They won't turn on, _someone else answered. _The janitor has been trying since the lights went out._

_What can we do, then? _Erika asked. _Do we have any idea when the lights will be able to turn back on?_

_Not yet, _the vice principal said. _Right now, it doesn't look like it's going to be any time soon. We have to send them all home._

The teachers all nodded in agreement.

_Erika, do you have your cell phone? _the vice principal asked. Erika nodded, confused. _Good. Get the files for everyone in your class and start calling parents to come get their children. We'll keep them in the gym until the parents are able to pick them up. I'll have the office staff working on contacting the rest of the parents._

_Why do we need the cell phones? _Erika asked. _What's wrong with the land lines?_

_The storm knocked out the phone lines, too, _Mr. Wiles told her. _We can't reach the electric company to fix the power._

Erika felt her nerves misfire and start to shake. This was _not _good. The teachers went their separate ways after receiving all their instructions and Erika hurried down the dark hallway to her classroom, furiously typing out a text to Dean as she went. She didn't know what he could do, exactly, but she was fairly certain that phones didn't often go out in a thunderstorm.

She paused outside her classroom and took a deep breath, determined not to scare the children who were depending on her for their safety. She walked in and found them still sitting in their desks, playing with the toys she'd let them pick out. Their eyes locked on her as she came in and she smiled, hoping that children couldn't smell fear.

_School is canceled for the rest of the day, _she signed and she laughed as little arms pumped in the air. One little boy even appeared to be doing a victory dance. _Everybody put your toys back where you got them and grab all your things. When you're done, form a single file line at the front of the class. _

She watched as the children obeyed her orders, all seemingly thrilled that they got to play the rest of the day rather than watch their teacher write words on the board. When they'd all lined up, she counted heads and checked roll. Convinced that all the children in her class were where they were supposed to be, she picked up her flashlight and started to lead them down the hall and out to the gym, where they would continue to play until all their parents could be reached to come get them. She held the hand of the boy who was first in line and instructed him to hold the hand of the girl behind him. The rest of the line followed suit and they walked as a chain down the dark hallway.

They met with another class as they went, walking side by side. Mr. Wiles gave her a wan smile as they walked. His class went through the gym doors ahead of hers, the screen that connected the buildings barely providing shelter from the pounding rain. Lightning forked in the sky and thunder rolled, doing nothing for the mild panic that Erika was nursing. Dean hadn't replied, and she suddenly worried that her cell phone had lost reception as well.

When the first of her students started filing into the gym, she started her head count again. She came up one short. She counted again, and found that Maddy was not in the line.

Had she seen her? She'd been in line earlier, she knew. She made sure Maddy had been there when they left. Had she wandered off? Had someone taken her?

The thought raced through Erika's mind and she couldn't answer. Mute terror seizing her by the throat, she looked hysterically through the crowds of children who were taking their place on bleachers set up by the janitors for this purpose exactly. She saw no trace of the little girl and her heart jumped painfully into her throat. Running back out into the freezing rain, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and found Dean's number. Her fingers flew over the keys, and she hit the "send" button with a desperate prayer fumbling on her lips.

_Get here soon. Maddy's gone._

_--_

Maddy walked leisurely down the dark halls of the school, working her way back to Ms. Cole's room. She'd forgotten the note she'd been given for Laverne, the woman who let Maddy live with her. Laverne would get mad and make her stay in her room without dinner if she didn't bring it home, so Maddy let go of her buddy's hand to go back and get it. She would get her note, and then go back to the gym to play with Sarah.

She found her classroom and reached for the doorknob, generating as much force as she could to turn it and push the door open. She finally did and walked into the classroom, shivering a bit at the cold. She watched the tiny little bumps form on her arms but then went back to her task, heading straight for the cubby with her name over it. Sitting on the floor in front of it, she pushed aside old drawings to look for the little envelope she'd promised not to lose.

Maddy threw things out of the little hole and grunted, reaching into the bottom to run her hand along it in search of the note. She continued her search, oblivious of the drawings falling steadily off the walls behind her turned back.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Author's Note:**

**I've noticed a sharp drop in reviews lately… is anyone still reading this? I hope so. I've so enjoyed writing it. **

**Oh! And I was losing my ever-loving mind on Thursday night. Craziness, right?! I just effing _knew _Mary's family would be hunters. But yeah... that's the end of that little rant. I can't wait until next week!**

**Chapter Sixteen**

Dean sped along rain-slick streets and wove through the minimal traffic of Coleman, heading for the school in the grip of an anxiety he couldn't begin to comprehend. He knew blackouts happened in thunderstorms—he wasn't stupid—but the idea that Erika couldn't keep as good of an eye on Maddy made him incredibly nervous. In the dark, they wouldn't even be able to communicate. Dean sped up a little more.

Sam said nothing, not understanding his brother's rush but not willing to question him, either. Instead, rather than get snapped at, he gripped the handles of the door and held on for dear life as Dean avoided his third collision.

Just a block before the turnoff for the school, Dean's phone vibrated in his pocket. He flipped open the phone and he felt like he'd just come the closest he'd ever been to complete heart failure.

_Get here soon. Maddy's gone._

"Jesus," he said, for lack of anything else.

"What is it?" Sam asked, holding on as Dean fishtailed into the parking lot of the school.

"Maddy's missing," Dean said and jumped out of the car as soon as he'd swerved into a parking spot. Ignoring the rain beating on him, he went straight to the trunk and unlocked the door to his arsenal. He dug out two flashlights and threw one of them to Sam. Next he grabbed two shotguns and extra ammo before shutting it again.

"Erika said no guns," Sam pointed out.

"I don't care," he said, handing one to Sam.

They practically ran into the building, Dean in the lead and Sam falling in behind him. Dean opened the doors with a shove and marched into the hallway, head swinging from side to side in hopes of finding either Maddy or Erika. The hall was completely deserted; the only sound was the echoing of their heavy footsteps on the tile floor.

Air heavy with tension, Dean stormed down the corridor in search of something he could shoot to relieve the heavy pounding of his heart. His sensitive ears picked up the clicking of heels on tile and he stopped, trying to decide if he should hide and save himself an explanation of why he's in a school with a shotgun. A flashlight beam came around the corner, quickly following the sound of the heels. Before he could make his decision, Erika appeared and jumped at the sight of them.

"Oh, thank God," she said breathlessly. "It's you."

"Have you found her?" Dean asked, taking her arm with his hand.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "Have you?"

"We just walked in the door," he explained. "What happened?"

"The storm knocked the power out," she explained, turning back to walk quickly in the opposite direction. The beam of the flashlight bounced with each step. "We decided to cancel classes—we can't teach if the kids can't see us—but when we tried to get a hold of all the parents to come get them, we found out that none of the phones were working."

"That's not normal," Sam said, following her. "Not for a thunderstorm, at least."

"You're telling me," she said, stopping at the end of the corridor to aim her flashlight down a length of lockers. She found nothing but empty floor space. "Anyway, I lined everyone up so we could move them all to the gym. I did a head count, and I specifically remember keeping an eye on Maddy. We get out to the gym, and she's missing. I didn't see or hear anything."

Dean heard the thinly masked panic in her voice. "We'll find her," he assured.

"Yeah," she said and exhaled shakily. "You guys keep checking, and I'll head back this way. Maybe she had to go to the bathroom and got lost."

"Yeah, okay," Dean said, and remembered the shotgun in his hand. "Is there anyone else in the main building?"

"No," Erika answered. "They're all in the gym keeping an eye on the students."

Dean nodded and they split up, taking different directions from the intersection of the corridors. Erika checked the girl's bathroom first, hoping she would find Maddy quickly and have nothing else to worry about. She would be fine with feeling stupid if it turned out that she'd called Dean for no good reason. It gave her some comfort, though, that she had two other people covering ground in the school looking for her. If she couldn't find Maddy, maybe one of them could.

The bathroom was empty. Next she checked the library and the cafeteria, none of them showing any sign that Maddy had been there. Rapidly approaching hysteria, Erika practically ran down the last wing of the school that was hers to check. There were three other classrooms in that hallway besides hers, and she opened each one of them to find them deserted and cluttered from the sudden rush to leave. Hers was the last door and she opened it to find the air freezing cold.

Her relief to find Maddy was short-lived. Lights flickered overhead and a woman's voice shrieked through wind that seemed to be coming from nowhere, smothering Erika with a sound she knew she would spend years trying to forget. Maddy sat in the middle of the room, staring up at the lights with tears running down her cheeks. Suddenly ignorant of her own fear, Erika rushed to take Maddy into her arms. She scooped up the shaking body, gasping in relief that she was unharmed. The little girl clung to her and pressed her face into Erika's shoulder, crying into the crook of her neck.

"It's okay," she said into Maddy's hair as she stroked it, knowing that she couldn't hear her but believing that she could feel the comfort just the same. "It's going to be just fine, baby girl. We're going now."

Erika clutched the girl to her chest as she turned to hurry from the room. She fought the wind as it pushed her sideways, attempting to knock her over. Before she'd taken two steps, a chair flew across the room and crashed into Erika's desk. She started at the sound and backed into the wall, as far away from the movement as she could get. The voice got louder as another chair flew to the front of the room, knocking over a bookshelf that rested in the corner.

Erika reached for the phone in her pocket; no longer sure she could convince her legs to carry her. She tried anyway and dialed Dean's number as she took a tentative step, feeling other forces trying to pull her down. Two rings had taken her almost to the door and Dean's voice managed to cut through the screams around her.

"Erika?" he asked into the phone. "Erika, are you there? Did you find her?"

"I've got her," she said into the phone, yelling over the voice in her head. "I think she's here, Dean. Virginia Kelley. She's throwing my furniture."

"Where are you?" he asked roughly.

"My classroom," she said, thanking God when she finally reached the door. The journey had seemed to take every ounce of her strength.

"Get the hell out of there," he ordered. "Sam and I are on our way."

The phone clicked in her ear and she put it away, almost weeping with relief when she felt the cold metal of the knob under her fingers. She turned it and pulled the door open in time to watch Dean run inside. As he entered the room, the voice abruptly stopped and the air stood still. Erika stood directly behind him, somehow comforted by the shotgun in his hand rather than terrified.

"What happened?" Erika asked, following closely behind him as he paced the room. "It was like the place was possessed just a second ago."

"She's probably regrouping," he said, putting his hand on her back to lead them out of the room. "Let's get you and Maddy out of here so Sam and I can deal with her."

Just before they reached the door, it slammed shut beneath Dean's fingertips. He jiggled the handle to find it virtually immovable and pounded on it with his open hand. He stepped back to kick the door, and felt the force vibrate painfully through his leg but leave the door unscathed. The air remained still and Dean turned to face Erika, who was rocking the little girl in her arms while she cried.

"What's wrong?" Erika asked.

"The door won't move," Dean said, pumping the shotgun in his hand. Erika flinched. "It doesn't want us to leave."

--

Sam wandered the hallways with his flashlight, looking through the shadows for a girl he'd never seen before. Every classroom he'd come across so far had been empty. He had the absent thought that she might have wandered outside, believing that theory would be better than the alternative if any more time passed and they hadn't found her.

He made up his mind to go look outside and he started back toward the way he came, hoping she would be on the playground rather than dying somewhere.

Deep in thought, Sam jumped at the sound of the sudden squeals coming from his EMF detector. He pulled it out of his pocket and watched the lights flash at the top before lifting his flashlight to look around. He felt no cold spot and didn't see the redheaded woman he'd run into two days before with Burke. He took a step further and the EMF squealed again, louder this time.

"What the hell's wrong with this thing?" he asked himself, thumping it with his finger. It continued to give off readings and he'd almost turned it off before noticing a large glass case off to his side.

He turned his flashlight to it and found smiling faces staring back at him through the glass. Pictures of children were locked inside, all with a plaque under their names reading their date of birth and, he guessed, their date of death. He frowned to notice that several hadn't lived to see ten years of age. He took a step forward and immediately retreated, recognizing a face at the top of the wall.

"Virginia Kelley," he read aloud. "There you are."

Sam reached for the handle of the glass case but pulled back when his phone rang.

"Dean," Sam answered. "I think I—"

"Sammy, it's locked us in," Dean interrupted.

"Locked you in where?"

"Erika's room," he answered. "Get over here and see if you can get break the damn door down or something before the bitch comes back."

Sam started down the hall. "Are Erika and Maddy there?"

"Yeah, they're with me," he answered. "Hurry up."

The phone clicked in Sam's ear and he jogged down the hallway, replacing the phone in his hand with the flashlight he'd put in his pocket. Trying to remember from days before where Erika's room was, he considered himself lucky when he heard Dean pounding on the door.

"Dean?" he asked, coming to a stop in front of it.

"Yeah," Dean answered through the door. "Will you get this damn door open?"

"Give me a sec," Sam said, trying the handle only to realize that it was just as obstinate as Dean said. He pulled violently to no avail. "Are Erika and Maddy okay?"

"We're fine, Sam," he heard Erika say through the door. "Just get us the hell out of here."

"Dean, this door's not moving," Sam said after almost rubbing his hand raw trying to get it open.

Dean sighed and leaned his forehead against the door. He heard papers rustle behind him and he turned to find the books rattling noisily on their shelves. He heard whispering in what used to be stillness and he swallowed, knowing that Virginia Kelley was about to be making her grand entrance.

"You'd better open it fast," Dean said, turning away from the door. "We've got company."

As if on cue, a flash of smoke materialized in the center in the room. It billowed in the mounting wind and took the shape of a body. Dean blinked and the woman Sam had described was standing a few feet in front of him. He moved forward and stood in front of Erika and Maddy. The woman opened her mouth, and sound came from all around him, though he couldn't understand exactly what she was saying.

"She says she wants the child," Erika said to him and held Maddy a little tighter. "She wants Maddy."

Dean shook his head and aimed his shotgun right at her face. "Not happening."

She threw the weapon across the room without as much as a blink of her eye. It clattered to the floor and Dean followed it with his eyes, wondering how long it would take him to reach it. Apparently the spirit could read his mind, though, and before Dean could move a muscle she'd picked him up off the floor and hurled him back down to it. His head bounced off the tile floor with a sickening _crack _and Erika yelled for him. Sam heard her and pounded on the door.

"Dean!" he shouted, pulling on the door handle as hard as he could. "Dean, what's going on?"

Dean groaned in response, fighting to keep what little air he had left in his lungs. He took a shuddering breath and the world went black.

Watching his every move, terrified that he had been killed, Erika backed away from the woman and her arctic blue eyes. Her eyes drifted to the gaping wound in her chest and back up to the woman's sickly pale face. Her mouth curled just a bit at the edge and Erika gasped.

"I know you," Erika said to the woman, who said nothing. Erika stood her ground, more determined than ever. Her voice acquired a confident edge. "That means I know what's left of you."

The woman arched an eyebrow.

_Give me the child. _

Erika shook her head fiercely. "She's a baby."

_She's a murderer._

"Her grandfather was," Erika said, backing up and away from the woman. "Sam!"

"Erika!" Sam yelled back, pounding on the door.

"Sam, I know how to kill her," Erika said, ducking away as her briefcase flew at her.

"What?" Sam asked, pressing his ear to the door.

"Down the hall there's a giant glass case on the wall," she said, watching Virginia Kelley's expression sharpen.

"I saw that earlier," Sam said. "What's there?"

"At the top there's a picture of her," Erika continued, ignoring her crippling terror to look the spirit in the face. "With a lock of her hair wrapped in blue ribbon in the frame."

"Okay, I've got it," Sam said and Erika heard his footsteps run away from the door.

Virginia's face twisted with fury and she screamed, her voice assaulting Erika's ears until she was certain they would bleed. Maddy cried ferociously in her arms, her small body trembling with shuddering gasps. Erika clung to the child and turned around, deciding that the ghost would have to kill her first if she wanted Maddy.

"Erika, get behind the desk!" Dean called and Erika turned to find him conscious again, blood weaving a trail down his face. She could have cried from the relief but didn't allow herself the time.

Instead she obeyed his command, ducking quickly out of the spirit's view. Still holding Maddy, she got down on her hands and knees and crawled under the massive wooden structure. She braced her knees against one side of the crevice to support herself and her back against the other side, cradling Maddy in her arms. She knew it wasn't much but hoped it would protect them long enough for Sam to burn what was left of her.

Dean picked himself up off the floor and shook his head, trying to free it of the bells ringing in his ears. He fought the strong urge to vomit and he blinked to clear his vision. His eyes sought out his gun and found it across the room; the distance as unattainable as it would have been if the gun was in the back of the Impala. He wouldn't be able to reach it in time to do anybody any good.

"Erika, stay there until I tell you to come out," Dean said, watching the spirit turn to him with untainted rage in her eyes.

"Come on, Sam," he muttered under his breath. "Save my ass."

--

Sam bolted down the dark hallway as fast as his legs would carry him, almost running completely past the glass case that had set off his EMF just minutes before. He tried the handle to the case but found it locked, leaving him with no alternative but to break the glass.

Shoving the butt of the shotgun into the glass, Sam put an arm over his face to protect his eyes as the glass shattered to tiny pieces around him. Even with his considerable height, he was unable to reach the picture frame at the very top. Unconcerned for the frame's safety, he reached the barrel of the shotgun to the top shelf, sweeping it off the shelf and into the wreckage of the rest of the case. A vase covered in flowers followed it to the ground and broke open on impact, spilling what Sam assumed to be her ashes amidst all the glass. He stared into the eyes of the woman in the picture, knowing without a doubt that the spirit was Virginia Kelley.

At the bottom of the frame a bundle had been pressed into the picture. Ginger-red hairs formed a loop, tied by a delicate blue ribbon. Sam picked up the picture frame and tore the back of it out, watching the picture and hair sink to the floor. He pulled a container of salt from his jacket pocket, as well as a lighter and a box of matches. He poured the salt over the ruins on the floor and tore the top off the lighter to pour the fluid onto the items as well. He lit the match and let it drop before jumping at the sound of a gunshot, followed by a scream and then a complete silence that made his stomach drop.

He ran back down the hall, leaving the fire burning in his wake.

--

Dean rolled over onto his side, ignoring the searing pain that erupted along his left arm. The bitch had shot him with his own gun, though luckily for him it was loaded with rock salt. Not to mention her aim was shit. The blow barely grazed him, drawing blood and stinging like fire.

The air was still now, singed with the smell of burning flesh. The spirit's voice carried echoes around the room and had Dean's head swiveling to found the source. The room had calmed and was soon silent in the aftermath of Virginia Kelley's evaporation in a ball of flame and smoke.

"Dean?" Erika called out tentatively, distrusting of the calm that had fallen over them. "Dean, are you okay?"

"Yeah," he grunted, pulling himself up. "I'm good."

He walked around the back of the desk, feeling like he'd gone a few failed rounds with a brick wall. Ignoring every ache and pain that plagued him from head to toe, he bent down to see Erika huddled under the desk with Maddy. They were both miraculously untouched but obviously scared out of their minds.

"You two okay?" he asked, looking them over.

"Yeah," Erika said, nodding. "Is she gone? For good?"

"Looks like," he said, offering a hand. "Come on out."

"Maddy," Erika said, tapping the girl lightly on her shoulder. She looked up at her with reddened eyes and flushed cheeks. She pointed to Dean's hand and used one hand to sign, _Go with Dean._

Maddy shook her head sternly and clung to Erika tighter.

_Just for a minute, _Erika persisted to no avail. Maddy wasn't going anywhere. _Please, Maddy. For me?_

The little girl considered the question and tentatively took Dean's hand, letting him pull her gently out of Erika's reach. She waited a whole ten seconds after Erika had stood up before reaching for her once again. Dean handed the girl to Erika and spun to face Sam as he stampeded through the door.

"Is she gone?" Sam asked breathlessly, looking around the room.

"Yeah, she's toast," Dean answered.

"I heard a gunshot," he said, glancing nervously at Erika and the small girl she was holding.

"It's a flesh wound," Dean said, shrugging despite the pain. "Took you freaking long enough."

Sam scoffed. "You're just mad she got the drop on you."

"Like hell she did," Dean said indignantly.

"So, what?" Sam prodded. "You gave her a head start?"

Dean shook his head. "Whatever, dude."

Erika scanned her eyes over the wreckage of her classroom. "God. I am going to have some serious explaining to do."

Dean shrugged. "Easily solved," he said and Erika watched him walk across the room. He climbed on top of a shelf and used the fire extinguisher to break out two of the windows.

"What the hell are you doing?" she yelled. "How does that solve anything? That just gives me more of a mess to clean up!"

"Tell them the storm broke out the windows," Dean said simply. "That will explain the windows and the damage."

Erika eyed him. "You're out of your mind," she said, walking out of the room.

"What?" Dean asked, looking at her retreating figure. "I thought it was a pretty good idea."

"You would," Sam said, following Erika.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Author's Note:**

**Thank you for all the reviews! Since they made me happy, I'm giving you another chapter sooner than I was planning.**

**Chapter Seventeen**

Later that night, Erika sat on the back porch swing wrapped in a giant blanket and staring out into the rain. It had lessened to a heavy mist over the course of the last few hours, finally moving off to the southeast. The thunder and lightning had stopped an hour or so before, leaving her with the soothing background noise of a spring shower. She took a deep breath of the clean air, still shocked at what the day had brought her. It was behind her now, she thought, clinging to that simple fact to keep herself sane. From that moment on out, her world was normal again. The rain smelled even sweeter after the thought.

She heard the back door open and watched Sam walk out onto the porch and stand awkwardly beside her.

"Come have a seat, sugar," she said, patting the empty seat beside her. "You've earned it."

Sam smiled gratefully and took a seat. "How are you holding up?"

Erika took a deep breath. "Just fine, I suppose, under the circumstances."

"That's good," he said, wrapping an arm around the back of the swing. "Some people—they don't handle it so well."

She gave a dry laugh. "Aren't I lucky?"

"How's Maddy?" he asked, knowing already that the little girl was on Erika's mind.

"Not so well," Erika sighed, remembering what it took for her foster parents to pry Maddy from her arms a few hours before. She couldn't get the girl's wailing out of her head. "She didn't want to let go of me." Erika laughed softly. "I guess I didn't want to let go of her, either."

"I saw that," he said, remembering the anguish on Erika's face as she watched the little girl drive away with two people who couldn't have cared less what happened to her.

"I'd give anything for her not to have been through that," Erika said. "She was so scared, Sam."

"Understandably," he reasoned, pushing the swing into motion with his legs.

"Yeah," she said. "Do you think she'll ever forget it?"

"What do you mean?"

"She's still so young," Erika said. "I'm older; I know I'm stuck with the memory. Will she ever have the chance to be a kid again? I don't want her to have to live with that kind of thing over her head. The nightmares, the phobias. She's too young to be so afraid of the world."

"Hard to say," Sam said honestly. "You'd be surprised what kids can remember, and what they can forget."

"Very true," she said and patted Sam's knee. They sat for a moment in silence, watching the rain as the swing moved back and forth.

"I'm going to adopt her."

Sam turned quickly to look at her, seeing only tranquility on a face that should have been fraught with just about any other emotion.

"You're serious," Sam stated.

"As a heart attack," Erika replied.

"It's sudden," he said, believing an honest reply was what she wanted. "And it's a big move."

"Somewhere in the back of my mind, I think I started considering it when I first set eyes on her," Erika confessed, smiling. "She was this surly, stubborn little child who was a bit too smart for her own good. She wouldn't even look me in the eye the first time I met her."

"Love at first sight," Sam filled in, imagining what it would have felt like.

"Beyond," Erika said. "I tried so hard to get her to open up to me. Even when she closed her eyes and ignored me completely, I kept trying. It was too important for me, for her, to not give up."

"Maybe that's why she trusts you now," Sam observed, "Because you kept trying instead of passing her off when she became too much of a challenge."

"Maybe," Erika said.

"And then there's the whole saving her life thing," Sam said, drawing a laugh from her that had a smile turning up the corners of his mouth.

"Not that I don't appreciate the credit, but that was all your doing," she said honestly. "I was just as scared as she was."

"But you were there," Sam said. "That counts for something. A lot of something."

"I suppose it does," she said and stared out into the green of her back yard in the backwash of the porch light. "Neither of us have anyone else in the world. Maybe now we can have each other."

Sam liked the sound of it.

"What about you, sugar?" she asked sweetly. "How are you tonight?"

Sam chuckled. "Just fine."

She studied his face. "Liar," she accused, looking up at him. "You're pensive."

"Damn," Sam said sarcastically. "I was going for thoughtful."

Erika smiled at the movie reference but refused to let it distract her.

"What's on your mind?"

"Nothing," he said, sighing. "I'm just tired."

"Imagine that," Erika said sarcastically. "People would think you'd been inhaling caffeine like oxygen the last few days."

"Yeah," Sam said, laughing. "Imagine that."

"What is it with the two of you?" she wondered aloud.

"What do you mean?"

"You and your brother," she said. "You're both so determined not to talk about what bothers you. Why is that?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know," he replied. "I guess it doesn't really change anything, so why bother."

"I don't think you always felt that way," she observed. "You seem the type who's okay to talk about things like that."

Sam scoffed. "I was," he said and added softly, "A lifetime ago."

"What changed?" Erika asked. When he didn't answer her she added, "Dean told me about your mother."

Sam looked at her, but every ounce of surprise he felt was at his brother. It wasn't often he discussed it. Mentioning nothing of that, Sam nodded.

"Yeah," he confirmed. "I was a baby. I don't remember anything." It was partially true—what he saw wasn't exactly a memory, but rather an instant replay. The image was locked in his head, courtesy of the yellow-eyed demon.

"It's still something, sugar," she said. "Just because you were little doesn't mean it doesn't affect you."

"Dean remembers her some, I think," Sam said. "I used to be so jealous of that; the fact that he got time with her that I didn't." He paused. "He doesn't mention it if he does, though."

"I don't think your brother would be the type to talk about it if he did," Erika said honestly.

"You'd be right about that," Sam said. "But I guess I don't blame him. It's still hard for me to talk about Jess."

"It gets easier," she promised. "But it helps if you talk about it enough; preferably with someone willing to lend a compassionate ear."

Sam recognized the hint and took it with a shy smile. "Not always. Sometimes talking about those kinds of things just make it hurt worse."

Erika gave him a sad smile. "See, that's where you're wrong," she said with the utmost conviction. "It keeps whatever it is you're holding back from killing you."

Bitter laughter bubbled up in Sam's throat. "Not always, it doesn't."

"You're breaking my heart, Sam," she said honestly, noticing the stark change in his voice. She put her hand on his cheek and brushed the hair out of his eyes. "What's wrong?"

He glanced at her nervously, wondering if it was possible for her to see right through him. Convinced of his own transparency, Sam didn't think talking to her would hurt anything.

"You ever feel useless?" he finally asked, eyes planted firmly on the ground beneath his feet.

"Every now and again," she replied truthfully.

"Like something was your fault? Or if you'd been there you could have prevented it somehow?"

The question hit too close to home and Erika sighed under the weight of it.

"Yeah, I have."

Sam looked up at her, curious at the emotion in her voice. "What happened?"

"I'll make you a deal," she said softly. "I'll tell you my story if you tell me yours."

He considered it. "Deal," he said. "But you have to go first."

She did, finding it somehow easier to tell to Sam than it had been to tell Dean. She told Sam all about her parents and about Nick, leaving no details out of the picture. Finishing the tale with her move back to Tennessee, she hoped to express that there was always hope if you were willing to look for it. When she finished, Sam was still looking down at his feet.

"You weren't trying to make me feel better when you said you understood," he said. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she said, working up a smile. "And I'm still trying to make you feel better, so don't canonize me just yet." She congratulated herself at the sound of his laughter.

"Your turn," she reminded.

"Yeah, I was hoping you'd forget," Sam said, laughing awkwardly.

"Not a chance," she said, patting his leg. "Come on, what's up?" When Sam hesitated to reply she added, "I'll save you a fortune in therapy bills."

"I bet you will," Sam said. "It's just--I don't know how to put it."

"Tell it like it is," she offered simply. "Unless, you know, it happens to be top secret information and you'd have to kill me if you told me. In that case I don't really want to know. You can deal with your own damn problems."

Sam found that laughter didn't relax him any. "No, it's nothing like that. Though Dean might kill me if I told you."

Erika frowned. "What's wrong with Dean?"

He hadn't realized he'd started spilling already. "It's--uh--complicated," he stammered lamely.

"So he's been saying," she said. "Tell me, what about your lives _aren't _complicated?"

"Not a lot," Sam admitted. "You know all the research I've been doing?"

"Yeah," Erika said, remembering finding him face down in it. "What about it?"

"It wasn't really general knowledge I was looking for," he said. "It was something more..."

"If you say complicated I swear to God I'm going to deck you," Erika threatened lightly and Sam chuckled.

"Sorry, but yeah," he said. "I was looking for a way to... help Dean."

"Help Dean how?" she asked apprehensively.

"Save him, I guess you could say," Sam said quietly, staring at the ground. He instantly regretted the admission but knew there was nothing he could do about it now.

"I see," Erika said, filling in the blanks that Sam had tentatively given her. She didn't like the answers her brain had found and she accepted the sadness without missing a beat. "I'm guessing Dean doesn't know you're doing this?"

"Nope," Sam said. "He doesn't want me to."

"Okay. Listen to me very carefully. I want you to remember these words if you remember nothing else about me the rest of your natural life," Erika said and Sam turned to face her, wondering what could possibly be so important. Erika continued, "Even if Dean doesn't say it, he appreciates the fact that you're trying to help him."

He stared at her, confused. "How could you possibly know that?" he asked. "No one knows my brother better than me, and I can tell you with some degree of accuracy that that sentence is not on his mind."

Erika smiled. "I don't doubt for a moment that you know him better than anyone else in the world," she said. "But maybe you should consider that someone might know him differently."

"What does that even mean?"

"Take it from another big sibling," Erika said simply. "Dean's getting mad at you not because he doesn't want you to help, but because he's still trying to protect you from those feelings of being useless. I'll bet cash money that he thinks keeping you out of the loop will keep you from feeling responsible."

Sam nodded. "That does sound like Dean."

"I just bet it does," she said. "When our mother was sick Nick was really young; still a baby, actually. When he got older, he started asking questions. I used to beg and plead and scream for him to stop asking, because I didn't want to tell him. I didn't want him to grow up just yet and have to carry that around with him."

Sam smiled a little, knowing a similar story from the other point of view.

"Are you getting me, sugar?" Erika asked and Sam nodded.

"Yeah," he answered. "I think I am."

"Good," she said. "So from now on, when you're doing all your research, don't develop habits that call attention to it." She stared at him pointedly. "Like drinking eight gallons of coffee a day to keep yourself up at night."

Sam chuckled. "Yeah, okay."

"Good boy," she said. "Where is Dean?"

"He said he had to go talk to Burke," Sam said and checked the time on his cell phone. "But that was over an hour ago."

"Oh, Lord," Erika said, shaking her head. "I wonder what he's up to."

--

Dean wandered into the police station, going against every instinct he'd been raised with. His skin crawled at the sight of another deputy standing aimlessly in the corner, and he wondered how suspicious it would look if he turned tail and ran before he did what he came to do. Dean walked up to the desk at the front of the room, where a small older woman was filing her nails. She regarded him with a sickly sweet smile and a heavy Southern accent.

"What can I do you for, darlin'?" she asked, setting her file down.

He cleared his throat and smiled. "I need to see the sheriff," he said simply.

"Just a moment," she said and leaned to press a button on the intercom. "Burke?"

"_Yes, Mrs. King?_" Burke's voice said through the device.

"You've got a visitor, honey," she said simply and clicked off. "It'll be just a moment," she said to Dean and he'd just turned to have a seat before the door directly behind the desk opened. Burke stood in the doorway, waving for Dean to come in.

"Mr. Wright, it's good to see you," Burke said, closing his door behind him. "Or should I say Mr. Winchester?"

Dean jerked around to look at him, expecting him to have a gun aimed at his back. He found instead that the man was smiling, gesturing for him to have a seat. Dean warily complied, half expecting a trap door to open below him.

"Is this some kind of trick?" Dean asked, shifting restlessly in his chair and looking around for a camera.

"Not at all," Burke said, taking a seat across from Dean.

"How did you know my name?" Dean inquired. "Did Sam tell you?"

"No, your brother had nothing to do with it," Burke replied. "You missed a fingerprint on the lip of the office desk."

Dean silently kicked himself, vowing never to make the stupid mistake again.

Burke continued, "I ran it and found out that Dean and Sam Winchester of the FBI's Most Wanted had been killed some weeks ago."

Dean said nothing.

"Imagine my surprise to see their pictures matching you guys," Burke said, propping his feet up on the desk.

"So, what?" Dean asked. "You get to tell the big-shot Feds that they were wrong and get all the glory?"

"Tempting, but no," Burke said.

"Then what?" Dean asked. "Are you going to lock me up?"

Burke ignored the question. "What did you come in here for, son?"

Dean leaned back in his chair. "Sam tells me you had an… experience at the school the other day."

Burke fought the chill that had crept along his skin. "Yeah, I guess you could say that." The woman had been haunting his sleep the last few days as much as he was sure she'd been haunting the school.

"Well, that's what my brother and I do," Dean explained, hoping that some version of honesty would get him out of a pair of handcuffs. "We've never killed anyone, I swear. We hunt down the things like what you saw and we get rid of them. Permanently."

Burke studied him, and decided he was telling the truth.

"Which is why your fingerprint is going to get lost from evidence," Burke said slowly. "Anyone asks me who you two are, I'll tell them that you're Simon and Sam Wright; friends of Erika's."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously," Burke answered. "Assuming, that is, that you're planning on taking care of whatever's killing those people in the school."

"That's what I came here to tell you," Dean said. "It's done already. You'll never see her again."

"So the deaths will stop?"

"They should, yeah," Dean said. "If not, we'll be back."

Burke nodded. "You and Sam are leaving?"

"Tomorrow morning," Dean said. "Then we'll never darken your doorstep again."

Burke stood and Dean followed suit. The cop offered his hand to the fugitive and he took it tentatively, giving it a good shake before letting his hand drop back down to his side. Dean offered a small smile and went to leave the small office before turning back around and looking at Burke.

"Can you do me a favor?" he asked.

"What?" Burke asked skeptically.

"Will you look after Erika and Maddy?" Dean asked. "Keep them safe?"

Burke nodded his head solemnly, understanding the subtext better than Dean did himself. Saying nothing else, he walked from the office. He waved casually at Mrs. King and headed back out the doors, hoping he never had to walk through them again.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Author's Note:**

**This is where the M rating comes into play.**

**Let me know what you think!**

**Chapter Eighteen**

Erika stood at the glass doors leading to the balcony, watching the rain carve tiny paths down the window pane. The only sound in the room was that of her own breathing and she kept it quiet, convinced that one sound would shatter the comforting curtain of silence around her.

She had sent Sam up to bed, knowing already that he wasn't going to sleep. He needed his rest; there was no telling where they were headed when morning rolled around. She would miss him, she realized with a smile. Tomorrow she would be making coffee for one, as opposed to making it for a small army. She wouldn't get to see his slow smile and sleep-rumpled hair anymore, and Erika found herself wishing that wherever the wind took him from her front door that he would be safe and, more than that, happy.

Leaning her head against the glass of the balcony windows, she sighed and watched her breath fog the window. She wrote her name in the condensation, smiling at the habit she'd managed to hold onto since she was a child. It used to drive her mother absolutely crazy; she would go on and on about leaving streak marks on the glass. She always found herself smiling at that memory of her mother.

Knowing already that it was ridiculous, she felt like she should have known that Dean was sick. She didn't know how, but she was certain she must have missed something. It made sense to her now; the reckless abandon, then the doubt. It gave her some comfort to know that he really did care for her. Otherwise his carefree attitude would have lasted a lot longer, rather than giving way to genuine concern. Somehow along the way, she'd managed to fall for him as well.

It wasn't love, she told herself. She'd only known him a matter of days.

It may not have been love, but it was something. That much she knew, and surprisingly enough she didn't hate herself for it. Erika found that she could laugh when she realized she'd fallen for a bad boy. Leather jacket, classic car, and a couple of well-placed scars and she'd been drooling all over herself. But Dean Winchester was more than all that, she knew. He was much more than the sum of his parts, and so it was no wonder she felt the way she did. Altruism suited him, she thought. Though, when she thought of it, Dean wasn't so much as a knight in shining armor as he was… Dean.

She would remember him that way, she decided almost immediately. She would remember the unlikely hero that had saved her life and that of the child who would soon become her daughter rather than as the many superficial qualities or the numerous and insignificant details that could never possibly define him. Erika wasn't surprised to find herself missing him already. Neither was she surprised that he would be leaving her soon; as bitter and depressing at it sounded, the people she loved tended to disappear.

Rather than give in to the mounting depression and self-pity, she hummed to herself and stared out the foggy window. She'd almost come to a place of acceptance, and would have convinced herself of it had it not been for the smile she couldn't seem to find.

Dean opened her bedroom door, not knowing exactly what to expect. He closed it quietly behind him and found himself staring at her rather than immediately speaking up. The white silk robe she wore glowed in the moonlight and her long hair fell, unimpeded, down her back. She seemed to be deep in her own thoughts, concentrating on something far from what was in front of her. Whatever it was, he could tell it was breaking her heart.

"Hey," he said finally, knowing he needed to say what he had to say and leave. Erika turned and greeted him with a slow smile, holding back all the questions begging to pour from her.

"Hey."

"It stopped raining," he said lamely, hooking his thumbs in the front of his jeans.

"Yes, it has. Not for long, though," she said, noticing the clouds in the distance that seemed to be moving in. "Sam said you went to see Burke."

"Yeah," Dean said, keeping his distance. "I had to tell him that the spirit was gone."

"I'm sure he was relieved," Erika said and let the silence hang between them. Dean stood and watched her, wondering how many more moments like this he would have.

"You're leaving," Erika said finally, knowing that not saying it was just going to be harder.

Dean ducked his head. "Yeah. In the morning."

"Where?"

"South Dakota," he said, thinking of making a trip to see Bobby.

"You'll need to leave early, then," Erika said absently.

"Probably, yeah," Dean replied, wondering if it was humanly possible for a conversation between two people to be more strained.

"Can I ask you a question?" Erika inquired, studying him with a critical eye.

Knowing already that the answer was a loaded gun, Dean nodded. "Sure."

"It's personal," she warned, feeling like it was necessary.

"I thought it might be."

"Do you ever regret this?" she asked.

He looked at her, confused. "Regret what?"

"Living like a hunter, seeing what you see," she clarified.

"Sometimes," he found himself admitting. "Recently, more often than not."

Erika nodded. "I was afraid of that."

"Why?" he asked. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I just wondered if you did," she said, leaving out the ulterior motive. "I think it would be hard not to."

"It's my job," Dean said, stoic. His jaw tensed and he unconsciously stood a little straighter. Erika noticed and could see that the idea of _his _job came with a soldier's training.

"Why does it have to be?" she asked, not entirely sure where the question came from. She ran with it, though, hoping that wherever her heart was taking her would ease both of them.

"I don't know," he said truthfully. "It just is."

"Something tells me that you don't really believe in fate," she observed.

"Not really," Dean answered.

"Why not?" she asked. She believed in fate very much; probably more than she should have.

"Somebody doesn't just map your life out for you and wait for you to follow the yellow brick road," he said cynically.

She laughed. "I guess that's one way of putting it."

"That's what it all boils down to, anyway, and I don't buy it," he said, convinced. "You always have a choice."

"Do you?" Erika said, sending him a pointed glance.

Dean noticed the look and cleared his throat. "What are you getting at?"

"I'm not sure," she said. "I feel like there's something about you that I just have to figure out."

He shifted uncomfortably under the weight of her words, knowing that the last time he opened up to anyone it hadn't exactly gone well. Going against his better judgment, though, he felt a sincerity in her words that he hadn't felt when he'd decided to spill to anyone else.

"What do you want to know?" he asked, coming a little closer to her.

"Are you happy?" she asked simply, knowing exactly why that was the first question to come to mind. She hated to think that Dean would die regretting his own existence. This way, she would know.

Dean considered his answer carefully but couldn't seem to come to a conclusion.

Looking her in the eye he replied, "Life isn't always that simple."

"You mean _your_ life isn't always that simple," she corrected. "If you're not happy, then why are you still doing this?"

"Because it comes down to a trade-off," he said seriously. "My happiness for people's lives. I don't like it--in fact, most days I can't stand it. But that's the way it is. I couldn't really be happy anyway, knowing that I was letting people die."

He let himself be silent then. He felt ridiculous hearing his own words repeat in his ears, and was almost expecting Erika to laugh at any moment.

"I'll miss you."

The simple phrase caught Dean off-guard and his head jerked up to take a good look at her. She meant it, he decided. She meant every word, and he hadn't the slightest clue how to feel about it.

Would he miss her? Would he be lying in some motel room tomorrow night thinking of her?

"Yeah," he said tentatively, realizing that he'd answered before he'd arrived at his own conclusion. "I'll miss you, too."

Unsure of himself for one of the first times in his life, he crossed the room and came to stand beside her. He watched the rain for a few moments, trying to find the words he needed to say. Erika reached for his hand and took it in her own, bringing it to her lips. Meeting his eyes, she gently pulled him against her to run her hand down his chest. She pushed herself up to the tips of her toes to kiss him lightly on the mouth. The small gesture sent his heart through the roof but had his mind backpedaling at light speed.

"I should go," he said into the air humming between them, knowing that nothing good could come from his weakness for her.

"Stay with me," Erika said, using her eyes to make her intention perfectly clear.

"I want to," he said, thinking of what it would be like to give in. To hold her, even for a night.

"Then why don't you?" she asked. "You always have a choice, remember? Take your happiness when you can get it."

Persuaded, if only for a moment, his hand traveled up her back and came to rest cupping the back of her neck. She leaned encouragingly into his touch, turning her head to press a kiss into his wrist. He sighed and kissed her again, wishing that he could let himself take the night with her that she was offering.

"Erika, I can't," he said, pulling himself away from the intoxicating taste of her. He almost laughed to realize that he was the one saying no, and not the other way around. Sex had never been something that Dean shied away from.

"It's okay," she said. "I know."

"No, you don't," he said. "It's not that I'm leaving tomorrow. It would take more than that."

"I know," she repeated and squeezed his hand. "Sam told me."

Dean stared at her, questioning, and then swore.

"So that was what the twenty questions were about," he said, not waiting for a confirmation. "I'm going to kill him."

"Don't," she said. "He didn't really tell me anything. I kind of figured it out for myself."

"I didn't want you to know," Dean said honestly. "I didn't want you have to think about it."

"I understand," Erika said. "I would have done the same thing."

"I never meant for this to happen," he said earnestly. "I never meant to find someone else to leave behind."

"Accidents happen that way," she said knowingly. "But I'm happy you did, even if we don't have long."

"How can you be okay with that?" he asked soberly, amazed that she would be so willing. "Knowing what you know?"

"I can't say I'm thrilled that you're sick," she said, missing the quick look of confusion on Dean's face. "But I can say that you're still here."

"What?"

"I'm not your forever, Dean," she said, cupping his face in her hand with a sly smile. "But who wants forever, anyway?"

"It's not fair," Dean said, moving in to kiss her. "I wish I had the time to give you."

"You're giving it to me already," she said, pushing his jacket from his shoulders. "For now, that's all I need."

Ignoring the heavy weight doubt had placed on his chest, Dean pulled her roughly against him to kiss her with a desperation that he couldn't recall ever feeling before. Pouring all he had into the kiss, he was adamant to tell her everything with his body that he couldn't tell her in a million years with his words. The soft skin of her jaw collided with the rougher skin of his hand as he tilted her chin up with his fingers. His tongue ran across her lips and she opened them to him, sighing at the rapturous heat that seemed to flow freely. He tasted like lust, deep and dark, and Erika let him take from her.

Her responsiveness was killing him. She moaned with every brush or graze of his hand and sent his head spinning in a million different directions, only to be brought back again by the sound of her voice pounding like blood in his ears. He pushed aside the silk shoulders of her robe and let his eyes roam over her sterling white skin as the material pooled at their feet.

"You're beautiful," he said, and meant it.

"You're only saying that because I'm naked," Erika responded and Dean laughed against the column of her throat, feeling her pulse racing frantically against his lips. He smiled a little arrogantly, knowing that he was the reason behind her racing heart. He feathered his tongue over it, tasting, before sucking gently in time with the beat of her heart. Knowing she would hit him if he left a mark, he moved reluctantly away while he was still capable.

Erika's hands wandered, blind and desperate across a terrain that she was frantic to discover. She clung to the solid muscles she felt beneath his shirt, just as impatient to see him as he had been to see her. Her fingertips found the heat rising prominently to the surface of his skin and she fought to get them over every inch of him. She gasped quickly when his fingers found her body more than ready for him. Grin firmly in place, he kissed her. They explored each other with a staggering intensity that left them breathless and half shattered, craving more only to realize that it could never be enough.

They fell in a tangle of fevered flesh to the bed, where Erika fought to free Dean of his clothing. Her eyes rested on the tattoo marking his left side, admiring it for a moment in the brief absence of Dean's skin from her own. She saw the small, circular scars only inches apart and knew what they were from. Ignoring the sickening clench of her stomach, she traced them and said nothing. The scar tissue was well-healed and smooth to the touch.

"They're old," Dean said simply, his rough voice carving into the silence that hung around them.

Erika nodded and wove her hand around the back of Dean's neck to bring him close enough to kiss, wishing to waste no more time on explanations that meant nothing to either of them. She sunk her teeth lightly into his swollen bottom lip, eliciting a groan that brought a smile to her face. She smoothed the aggravated skin with a sweep of her tongue. Watching as Dean closed his eyes, Erika repeated the motion and delighted in the heady taste his lips brought to hers.

Dean felt his breath catching roughly in his chest, urging him to rush. He refused, however, and let himself enjoy the feel of Erika's warm body below his. He suspended himself over her, memorizing the way she looked and felt beneath his touch. He wanted to be certain that he would remember this moment the rest of his life, however short that turned out to be.

He brought her into an earnest kiss that couldn't even begin to satisfy the unbearably bright streak of need that had possessed him. Keeping her close, he ran his fingers through her hair as he poised himself just outside her. Erika tasted the desire on his lips and levered her hips to bring them closer together. Her skin brushed his and his heart skipped several beats. The friction was glorious and not nearly enough, Dean thought as he pushed into her.

She gasped, sighed, and took him in inch by inch, wondering that she didn't implode as a devastating ecstasy took her over. Pinned under his weight, Erika felt every move of his hips against her sweat-slicked skin and found herself quietly whimpering into the still air. Listening intently to the sound of Dean's heavy breathing against her ear, she wove her fingers through his short strands of light brown hair and pulled a bit when the razor-sharp edge of a small orgasm knifed through her. Feeding the flames dancing frantically at her center, she thrust herself harder against him. Her back arched, her hips levered even higher, and within a few seconds she'd fallen back down to the mattress.

"Jesus," Dean said breathlessly, taking her face into his hands. "Jesus Christ." He pushed the hair back from her face until her eyelids fluttered open to look at him. "Again," he said simply. "Again. Just like that."

He gripped her, helpless, as he moved against her; slowly at first, prolonging the pleasure he was sure could have lasted forever. When he stirred faster Erika closed her eyes and tilted her head back, convinced that she would soon cease to exist completely. The dull ache at her center, remnants of her last release, soon turned to active sparks that forced her to violently grip the blankets in her fist as she writhed beneath him.

Dean felt her surrender and held her tighter, almost desperate to feel her come beneath him. He wanted to feel those beautifully agonizing seconds when she went tight around him; she would say his name and his name only through the daze, and he would know that no one else was on her mind. The thought had him thrusting his hips harder against her, tasting the skin along the curve of her neck as she arched and moaned beneath him.

Erika raced wildly toward the edge of a release that was just out of her grasp. Her hands left the sheets to cling to his arms as the intensity of their rhythm overwhelmed her. Her fingers and toes went numb, telling her with little doubt that she was close to the brink. She opened her eyes only when Dean begged her to, though she could barely focus enough to truly see through the haze he'd settled over her.

"Look at me," he groaned, breath expelling harshly against her. She complied, only barely hanging onto the edges of her sanity.

She whispered unintelligibly into his mouth as he took it with his own, forcing her eyes to lock onto his. The gold within them seemed to swirl and darken to black before he blinked and they glowed green once again. She felt the edges of her vision blur beyond recognition, leaving the two of them alone in the world. Her arms wove around his neck and stayed there, taut, as ever muscle in her body strained. Dean knew she was there, and knew he wasn't far behind.

She said his name on a final burst of sound as the world crumbled around her, rubble in the aftermath of an orgasm she didn't think it was possible to survive. Sensations deep and dark pulled at her and she involuntarily wrapped her legs around Dean's waist, her entire body clenching around his. Bright and blinding pulses of electricity shot from her core to the rest of her body, leaving her barely able to breathe. High on her own ecstasy, she remained suspended until Dean's erratic breathing brought her clumsily back to life.

Dean felt her body tense, shudder violently, and go lax beneath him. The sensation clawed viciously through the tatters of what remained of his control, destroying him in a way he'd never experienced before. With the sound of her voice still ringing in his ears, Dean buried his face in her hair and let himself go.

--

Erika lay sated and motionless in the aftershocks of a passion she didn't quite understand. Dean's weight still pressed against her, pinning her to the bed. In a way she was grateful for the reminder that she was still able to breathe. She smiled at him when he lifted his head to look at her, meeting his lips in a gentle kiss that surprised her with its intimacy.

"I'll get off you as soon as I can move again," he said, laughing a little against her mouth.

"No rush," she said, smiling. "I can't think of a place I'd rather be."

Dean smiled at the comment and kissed her again, taking the time to brush his tongue along the roof of her mouth. She groaned against him and let her hands slide down the slick skin of his arms. Air had become a dim memory when he pulled away, leaving Erika breathless.

"Is there a single part of you that doesn't send my blood pressure through the roof?"

Dean grinned almost arrogantly. "Nope."

"Good," she said, mildly disappointed when Dean rolled away. Though she would never have admitted it, part of her brain waited for Dean to get out of bed and reach for the clothes they'd thrown across the room. That train of thought was silenced, however, when he stayed and wrapped an arm around her to pull her against him.

"Why couldn't I have met you years ago?" he asked quietly, not entirely sure if he'd said the words aloud.

"Because we weren't where we needed to be," Erika said simply, playing with the fine blond hairs just above his ears.

"And we are now?" he asked softly.

"Looks like."


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Author's Note:**

**Here it is… the final chapter. Thank you all so much for following along. I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it.**

**Without further adieu…**

**Chapter Nineteen**

They slept through the thunderstorms that rocked the house, oblivious to the raucous thunder and heavy winds. Lightning flashed and lit up the night to make it look like day, performing intricate dances across the sky to an audience of no one.

When Erika woke up it was still dark, the sun barely a glow at the edge of the horizon. Settling into the warmth of the blankets, it took her a minute to remember that someone had shared the night with her. She rolled over and found Dean curled against her, frowning even in his sleep.

Giving into silly sentimentality, she traced a finger along the furrows in his brow and down along his jaw. Her touch wandered along the smooth skin of his lips, soon to be followed by the soft touch of her own. Dean stirred slightly at the contact and deepened the frown, making Erika laugh at the sour expression he'd managed to pull his face into. The sound woke him and he opened his eyes to find Erika's bemused smile.

"Good morning," he said groggily, blinking the sleep from his eyes and pulling her against him.

She drew him into a deep kiss that surprised them both with its urgency.

"Good morning."

Gently pushing him onto his back, she climbed on top of him and leaned forward to rest her hands on the muscles of his chest. She sighed as he slipped into her, admiring the warm glow spreading across his skin as the sun started streaming through the windows. His green eyes flashed and burned, stirring something in her chest she couldn't quite name. Moving her hips against him, she reached for his hands and gripped them tightly in her own. She kept them there while she rocked, awash in the tide of their passion. Her climax seemed to pull from the tips of her toes, settling over her in a heavy blanket that left her breathless and violently alive. She fell back on top of him as he emptied himself deep inside her, his harsh gasps filling the air.

Dean wrapped his arms around her and kept her close, committing to memory every touch and sigh, knowing that they would be their last. Erika pressed her lips against the thumping in his chest and he sighed, resigning himself to the inevitable as his heart fell helplessly at her feet.

--

Erika slipped out of bed after she was certain Dean had fallen back to sleep. She liked the sight of him spread out on her bed, her blanket pulled barely up to his waist. His bronzed skin contrasted the sapphire blue of the material beautifully, and she had the off-handed thought that she should take a picture. Knowing Dean, however, he wouldn't be too thrilled with the idea. Rather than test his temper, she climbed in the shower to save herself from the temptation.

She turned the water up as hot as it would go, knowing that the hottest shower in the world wouldn't take away the weight on her shoulders. She made the decision right then to call into work that day, needing the solace the rest of the day would offer her.

"Dean's leaving," she told herself, listening to her voice echo off the empty walls of the shower. "There's nothing you can do about that, so cheer up. You have other things to think about."

Like picking Maddy's room, she thought idly. She would go through the house after… later that afternoon, and pick out which one she thought would be the best for a little girl. She thought about the bedroom three doors down from her own; the one she'd lived in for the first eighteen years of her life. Before Maddy came to live there permanently, she would give it a fresh coat of paint and a new set of bedroom furniture.

No, Erika thought. She and Maddy would paint it together.

The plans distracted her until the water ran cold and she was forced to get out. She wrapped a towel around herself and walked into the closet, looking for something she would be comfortable wearing around the house. Settling for a pair of denim shorts and a baggy sweater she'd had since college, she towel-dried her hair and walked back out into the room to find Dean still sleeping.

She smiled at him at walked from the room, intending to go down to the kitchen and cook until she felt better. Running through every recipe in her head, she thought of at least five that would be complicated enough to distract her from their impending farewell. At the very least, the Winchester brothers would have more than enough food to last them on their trip to South Dakota.

The house was completely still in the early morning sun. She should enjoy it while it lasted, she thought. Once there was a child in the house again it would be complete chaos and she would hardly have the time or energy to keep it so immaculate. Smiling at the thought, Erika worked her way back to the kitchen to begin a marathon of baking that would—hopefully—relieve some of the sadness that was building up in her chest.

--

Dean woke to realize that he was alone. Where Erika had been beside him, there was now just a rumple in the sheets. He frowned and looked around the room before letting his head fall back down to the pillows. The clock told him it was barely seven and he thought he could either go back to sleep for a little while, or find Erika and call her back to bed.

Instead he crawled out of bed, squinting at the sunlight that seemed to have overtaken the storm. He stared at the view outside the balcony windows, rejuvenated by the sight of life just outside the glass. For some reason it felt strange; like the world was trying to remind him that life went on. The thought made him feel ridiculous. Turning from the window, he sought out the bathroom. He showered and dressed in a matter of minutes, wondering where Erika had run off to.

He found her exactly where he knew she would be; in the kitchen. He stood back for a few moments, watching her move competently through the motions. Knowing why she was working so hard didn't lessen his joy of simply being able to watch her. He said nothing when she stopped and leaned her hands against the kitchen counter, or when she took in a deep breath to release it harshly. Continuing his silence, he turned and walked away before she noticed he was there. She needed the time, he thought. Just like he did.

He headed back up to the room he'd spent the last few nights in, taking a seat on the bed and looking around. It was strange for him to consider that it was the last time he would see those walls. Shaking his head, he drove off the sentimentality from his thoughts. Feelings were Sam's area, not his. He should be saying "good riddance" with a cocky smile and loading up the Impala, not brooding over the fact that in an hour or so he would be telling Erika goodbye.

In the short time he sat there, though, he realized that he didn't regret a single thing about his time there. He didn't feel bitter or foolish; only content and the closest to happy he'd been in a long time. For him, that was enough to make the entire trip completely worth it. On the wings of an epiphany, Dean realized that Erika was more than what he'd wanted. She was right; she wasn't his forever. He supposed, though, that she was exactly what he needed.

He got up from the bed to start packing his things, only to be interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Yeah," he said; his version of "come in".

Sam poked his head through the door and walked in when he saw that Dean was alone. He shut the door behind him and shoved his hands in his pocket.

"I guess we're leaving," Sam said.

"Yeah," Dean answered, shoving a shirt into his duffle. "I was thinking we could head Bobby's direction. Spend some time with him."

"Sure," Sam said, watching his brother pack his things with a curious look on his face. He offered, "We could always do that later."

Dean answered without looking up. "What do you mean?"

"We can stay for a little while," Sam said, remembering every other time Dean had offered to let him stay. Sam was never able to; maybe Dean could.

"We can," Dean said simply. "But we shouldn't."

"Why not?"

"We finished what we came to do, Sammy," Dean said, looking up to give him a small smile. "It's time we left. We should let Erika get back to her life."

"She means something to you, doesn't she?" Sam asked, reading his brother like an open book. Knowing the answer already, he asked, "Do you love her?"

Dean said nothing.

"You do, don't you?" Sam said, a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. "Is that why you won't stay?"

"Stay for what, Sam?" Dean said, sending his brother a stern look.

"I don't know," Sam said, shrugging noncommittally. "I bet you could find a few reasons if you wanted to."

"I'm not doing that to her," he said. "She's had to watch everybody else in her life die. She's not watching me, too."

"I doubt she'll see it like that," Sam reasoned.

"But I will," he said and smiled quickly, sending the blaring signal that the serious portion of their conversation had ended. "Stop trying to get rid of me. And besides, I can't let you hunt alone." He smirked. "You'd get yourself killed in a week."

"Oh, right," Sam said. "Who saved your ass yesterday, exactly?"

"I told you, I had it covered," Dean defended.

"Sure you did. She shot you with your own gun because you had it covered," he said sarcastically. "Admit it, you need me."

Dean scoffed. "Like I hell I do."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

--

Dean finished loading the last of their things into the back of the Impala and watched Sam and Erika share a hug on the front steps of the porch. He stood silently by as she kissed Sam's cheek, ruffling his hair and handing him a giant thermos and a covered plate of whatever it was she'd been making that morning. Sam walked away, waving, and came to stand next to him.

"Your turn," he told Dean, watching his brother's face carefully.

"Yeah," Dean said, somber. "I know."

He walked to meet her on the steps, leaving Sam standing idly beside the car. Sam turned away, wanting to give his brother some privacy. Leaning against the car, he sipped the coffee Erika had given him and stared out of the expanse of trees on the other side of the road. He silently wished his brother luck, knowing that while Dean was good at saying goodbye, it was different this time.

Dean walked to the bottom of the front steps and stared up at Erika, who regarded him with kind eyes and a slow smile.

"Here we are," Erika said, taking a long look at the man in front of her. Her heart ached for him, too naïve to do otherwise.

"Here we are," Dean repeated. He didn't know what he was supposed to say to her; what he could say to make a difference to either of them. He wasn't even sure the words existed. Rather than speaking, he took the last few steps up to meet her and kissed her lightly.

"I'm really going to miss you," he said honestly, feeling an ache in his chest he knew wouldn't go away as quickly as it had come. "But you know I can't come back."

Erika nodded her head. "Yeah. I know," she said. "If you change your mind, you know I'm here."

"Can you do me a favor?" Dean asked, leaning his forehead against hers.

"Anything, sugar," Erika said, closing her eyes to savor the feeling of his skin against hers for just a moment longer.

"Don't forget me," he said and felt ridiculous almost instantly. "I know it sounds stupid."

"No," Erika said, shaking her head. "No, it doesn't." She took a moment to look up at him, certain that he was listening to her carefully. "That's not a favor you have to ask from me. It's already done."

He kissed her again. "Goodbye, Erika."

"Goodbye, Dean," she said, squeezing his hand and watching him turn from her. Before she could forget, she called out, "You might want to take the first turn driving."

"I was planning to," Dean said. "Why?"

"Sam's thermos is full of decaf," she said and smiled mischievously. "He's going to be passed out in an hour or two. You'll have the road to yourself for at least twelve hours."

Dean laughed despite himself. "You really are something."

"Don't I know it," she said, watching him walk away.

Laughter trapped the tears threatening to start as she watched Dean tap Sam on the shoulder and order him around to the passenger seat. She waved to the both of them and listened to the Impala's engine turn over with a roar. The car began its crawl out of the parking spot and down the driveway, music already blaring out its windows. She watched the road until the Impala's cloud of dust disappeared before turning and going back in the house, where the rest of her life was waiting for her.

--

Dean watched Sam pour coffee down his throat with a bemused smile on his face, waiting for the moment Sam passed out beside him. Until that moment, he contented himself with a Led Zeppelin cassette tape and the brownies Erika had sent them with.

"I liked her," Sam said suddenly, taking his eyes away from the window.

"Me too," Dean said honestly. He bit into a brownie and groaned. "God, maybe I should have stayed. These are freaking great."

Sam laughed. "She's adopting Maddy, you know."

Dean turned suddenly to stare at Sam. "She told you that?"

"Yeah, last night," Sam said. "She sounded pretty certain."

"I didn't see that one coming," Dean said and tried picturing Erika as a mother. "I like the idea. Maddy's foster parents sucked."

"Yeah, they did," Sam said. "Did you see the way they practically shoved her in the car when they came to get her from the school?"

"I wanted to deck the freaking dad," Dean said. "I would have, too, if Maddy hadn't been watching."

"I bet that would have thrilled Erika," Sam said, laughing.

"You never know," Dean said, shrugging. "She might have backed me up. She wasn't too happy with the guy, either."

"I can't say I blame her," Sam said.

"Do you think they'll let her?" Dean asked. "I mean, she'd be a single parent and all. Don't they frown on that kind of thing?"

"Yeah, but Erika's a single parent with a family fortune and an army of lawyers in her corner," Sam observed. "And money aside, Erika is trained to help kids like Maddy. She can give her the extra attention she needs." Sam paused. "Not many foster parents are willing to go the extra mile. Erika will and then some."

Dean nodded, knowing it was completely true.

Sam smiled out the window. "I think they'll be happy together."

"Yeah," Dean said, staring at the open road ahead of them. "Yeah, me too."

**THE END**


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